TROUBLES GATHER ABOUT OUR JESSIE.
Jessie did not look up as I approached; she stood absently pulling the
flowers from a vine that fell in luxuriant masses over a trellis by her
side, and appeared so much engrossed by her own thoughts, that she did
not even hear my footsteps.
They were not pleasant reflections which filled her mind. Sunny visions,
such as those which, a few weeks since, had made her face so bright and
beautiful, were seldom on her features now. I could see by the mournful
expression of her mouth, and the despondency of her whole attitude,--so
unlike anything I was accustomed to remark in our Jessie, that something
was troubling her.
"You naughty girl!" I said, as I ascended the steps; "how can you find
the heart to spoil that pretty vine?"
She started, turned quickly round, and a burning blush shot up to her
forehead, while she looked at me in a confused way, as if she supposed
me able to read her very thoughts.
"Oh! is it you, Aunt Matty?" she exclaimed, trying to laugh and seem
more at ease.
"I believe so," was my answer; "I have every reason to suppose that I am
that person, and very tired into the bargain."
"You look fatigued," she said, with her usual kindness; "do go up-stairs
and lie down before dinner."
"Now, my dear, you know I am never guilty of that weakness."
"I forgot."
"How could you? I am astonished--when you know how much I pride myself
on regular habits and a systematic disposal of my time!"
She laughed a little at my nonsense, which was the thing I desired; for
it pained me greatly to see her look so weary and disconsolate.
"At all events, you will sit down, I suppose," she said, running into
the hall and bringing out a chair. "Your rigid principles do not prevent
that!"
"Thank you, my dear. I am happy to say they do not."
I seated myself, really glad of an opportunity to rest; for now that
excitement had passed, I was astonished to find myself worn out in body
and mind. The mere walk could never have produced that sensation--I was
too much accustomed to out-door exercise for any fine lady feebleness of
that kind; but my interview with Bosworth and his friends, the sight of
Mrs. Dennison and Mr. Lawrence in the wood, together with Lottie's
revelations, had so worked upon my mind, that I had no strength left.
"Dear me! Aunt Matty!" exclaimed Jessie; "how tired and pale you look! I
never saw you so overcome!"
"It is nothing. I walked faster than I ought, perhaps."
"That is not all," she answered; "I am sure something troubles you."
"So there does!" I said,--"very greatly!"
"Can I help you? You know how gladly I will do it."
She began untying my bonnet-strings, drawing off my shawl, and
performing every little office possible to show her solicitude.
Generally, I dislike to have anybody touch me, or assist me in any way;
but it was always a pleasure to feel Jessie's fingers smoothing my hair,
or arranging my collar; and just then her assiduity quieted me more than
anything else could have done.
"Did you take a long walk?" Jessie asked, apparently anxious to turn my
thoughts from the painful theme upon which she supposed them to be
dwelling.
"Yes, very long, Jessie; I have been over to old Mrs. Bosworth's."
She looked at me in astonishment.
"Why, you hardly know the ladies! How came you to go there, Aunt Matty?"
"The old lady sent for me."
"Sent for you!" interrupted Jessie, in wonder and displeasure, while her
great eyes gave me a searching glance.
"Young Bosworth is very sick, and he wished so much to see me that his
grandmother put aside all ceremony, and desired me to go as soon as
possible."
Jessie turned very pale while I spoke, and leaned heavily against the
arm of my chair.
"Was it sudden?" she asked, trembling. "Has he been sick long, Matty?"
"For several days, I believe."
I had not the heart to tell her that he was stricken down the very day
after his last visit to her father's house, lest she should accuse
herself as the cause.
"What is the matter?"
"He has brain-fever, Jessie."
She uttered a cry.
"Oh! Aunt Matty! Aunt Matty!"
"I hope he is not in great danger," I said, anxious to soothe her. "He
was able to talk with me, and he had a comfortable sleep."
She put her hands in mine, with a look so beseeching and helpless, that
I answered as if she had spoken.
"He asked for you," I said. "He wants to see you, Jessie."
She shrunk back, and held up her hands like a child pleading for pity.
"Oh! I cannot go! indeed I cannot!"
"That is unlike you, Jessie. I did not think you would have refused a
sick friend any request!"
"Don't blame me--please don't! I would do anything for him; but, indeed,
I have not the courage to go there."
"Why, what do you fear, my child? I am sure he would not for the world
speak a syllable that could pain you."
"I know that, Aunt Matty--I am certain of it."
"Then what is it?"
"Old Mrs. Bosworth has such a stately way; so soft, yet decided. She
will look at me so sharply."
"I found her very kind and grateful."
"But she may think that I have done wrong."
"She is too just, too noble, Jessie, to blame any one for that which was
not a fault."
"Oh, Aunt Matty! even you speak and look so grave! I cannot bear
it--indeed I cannot!"
I was softened at once. How could I speak so coldly to my Jessie, while
she stood there trembling, with her great eyes full of tears.
"My own darling!" I said, quickly. "You know I could never feel anything
but love for you. Don't shake so, dear! We won't speak of this, if it
troubles you."
"No, no! I ought to hear--I must not be so weak."
She struggled against her feelings, brushed away her tears, and stood up
so firm and determined, that I felt a new respect for her. It was
beautiful to see how the true womanhood that lay at the bottom of her
nature roused itself, and asserted its supremacy in that moment of doubt
and distress.
"You are a brave girl!" I exclaimed,--"my dear, honest-hearted Jessie!"
"You must not praise me," she said. "I feel so guilty and wicked."
"That is wrong; you should not give way to these morbid feelings."
"Indeed, Aunt Matty, I am not like the same girl I was a few months
ago."
I knew whence the change came--I could have given its exact date; but it
did not extend back over a period of months--a few weeks had served to
bring that unrest and trouble upon the sweet girl. With the coming of
Mrs. Dennison all those shadows had crept into the house, gathering
silently but surely about every heart, dividing those who before had no
thought nor wish that was not common to all. I felt, too, that she was
preparing the way for deeper and darker troubles, which lingered not far
off, only awaiting the command of the arch-magician to approach and wrap
us in their folds.