OUR VISIT TO THE OLD MANSION.
Mrs. Dennison came in airy and graceful as usual; I noticed that she had
changed her dress. She kissed Jessie with as much affection as if she
had not seen her for a week, and began discoursing with great
volubility.
"I was up before either of you," she said; "I have been out in the
garden, ruining my white dress, and racing among the beds, to the great
astonishment of the old gardener."
"You look fresh and charming as the roses themselves," Jessie replied.
"Of course. But don't pay compliments; Miss Hyde does not like them."
"If they are sincere, I do," I said.
"Ah! then you must like mine. Indeed, I should be afraid to tell you a
story; I am certain those honest eyes of yours would detect it at once."
I disclaimed any such extraordinary powers for my poor eyes, and the
widow rattled on about something else. She always went from one subject
to another in a rapid, graceful way, like a bird flying about in the
trees.
"Why, where is Mr. Lee?" she asked.
"Gone out," said Jessie; "he went early."
"How ungallant," she returned; but she looked so very innocent that I
was more than ever convinced she had seen him before his departure.
One thing I could say for Mrs. Dennison, she never troubled her hosts to
entertain her. Directly after breakfast, she went, as usual, her own
way, and Jessie and I were free to start upon our expedition.
"We had better go at once," I said; "there is no telling when she may
dance in upon us again."
"You don't like her, Aunt Matty," replied Jessie; "I am sure you don't,
yet she is very charming."
"Never mind; there is no time to discuss my fancies," I said. "Get your
bonnet, Jessie."
She hesitated and grew a little pale, but complied at once. We were
ready in a few moments, and, passing through the garden, went down the
path by the grove, and took our way across the fields to the old house.
Jessie was very silent during our walk, and I was so much occupied with
my plans and my fancies that I had little time to break the thread of
her thoughts.
When we reached the gate that led into the door-yard, Jessie stopped.
"Oh, I am so frightened," she said.
Poor child! she was very pale, and shook from head to foot with an
agitation that reminded me painfully of her mother's nervous
excitements. I did my best to soothe her, but, in spite of her efforts,
it was some moments before she could go on.
"You will not mind it after the first meeting," I said.
"I am very foolish, I know. There, I am ready now."
As we turned into the avenue, I saw Mr. Lawrence pass along the road on
horseback. He gave a sharp, quick look, and rode on. I said nothing to
Jessie; it was useless to agitate her further. His passing at that time
might have been mere chance.
Jessie clung to me as we went up the two broad steps and entered the
hall. I did not speak, contenting myself with a reassuring pressure of
the hand; for I knew from experience that in cases of nervous dread one
is only made worse by persuasions and cheering speeches.
We were shown into the room where I had before waited for old Mrs.
Bosworth, and very soon I heard the rustle of her dress in the hall.
The old lady came in with her stately manner, but I could see that
trouble and watching had left their effect upon her, and it seemed to me
that I could discover smothered pain in her eyes when she greeted
Jessie. But she was exceedingly kind,--so gentle and caressing, that the
girl soon recovered from her fright and began to look like herself.
"You will excuse my daughter's absence, I hope," the old lady said; "she
is lying down. She is not very strong, and watching has quite worn her
out."
"But you think your grandson better?" I asked.
"Much better; yes, much better."
There was thanksgiving in her very voice. Jessie said, tremulously,--
"We were very sorry to hear of his sickness."
"Thank you, Miss Lee; I was sure you would be."
The old lady's fingers worked nervously; I knew, in spite of her pride,
what was in her heart. She longed to take Jessie in her arms, to beseech
her to speak the one word that would bring her boy back to life and
happiness.
"He suffers less with his head, I suppose?" I said, breaking the little
pause which would soon have proved awkward.
"It is quite easy this morning; indeed, last night he slept for several
hours undisturbed. He is so patient," she continued, "so gentle; but
that is natural to him."
I knew she was glad to have that opportunity of praising Bosworth; she
felt as if it was indirectly doing something to interest Jessie in his
favor.
"It was very kind of you to come, Miss Lee," she said. "I thought you
would be willing to humor a sick man's fancies, and he pined so to see
all his old friends," she added, quickly, with her old-world tact, for
the color began to flicker on Jessie's cheek.
"My father would have come also," said the girl, talking rapidly, "but
he was obliged to go out very early; and you know my mother seldom
leaves her room."
"It is sad that she should be so great an invalid," said the old
duchess--I must call her so. "My daughter and I go out very little. We
have often wished to see more of you, but age and infirmity are by force
unsocial."
"Mrs. Lee is fond of company," I said. I longed to do all I could to
draw the two families together.
"Ah, if that is the case, we shall call frequently upon her. It may do
her some good;" she looked at Jessie as she spoke.
"Mamma will be so pleased," she said, quite firmly; "it is very
monotonous to live always shut up in her room; she is naturally very
social, and to such, solitude is mournful."
"So it is; but I pity the young most! If I could only have taken my poor
boy's illness in his stead."
She was checked by the entrance of an old servant, who whispered
something in her ear.
"Will you go up-stairs?" she said, turning to me; "my grandson knows you
are here."
She took Jessie's hand softly, leading her away, and I followed. Jessie
bore up like a little Spartan, but I could see what an effort it was,--I
pitied her far more than any one else.