THE FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
I had soon cause to regret my rashness in having opened my heart to
Jessie. The dear girl was too frank and high-minded for a secret of that
kind to rest safely with her. She believed all that I suspected, and
with this conviction came a perfect loathing of the woman, who was now
her forced guest. I saw that this subject was preying upon her, and
repented keenly having given up the bitter fruit of knowledge before it
was an absolute necessity; Lottie was wiser in the rude kindness of her
attempt to put me down.
I did not grow strong; the harassing trouble at my heart kept me nervous
and irritable. If a person entered my room suddenly, I would start and
cry out; if I met any of the family in the grounds, my first impulse was
to hide away, or pretend to be occupied till they passed. Lottie scolded
me, not in her old way, but with a sort of tearful authority. The humor
and drollery of her rare character was changed into quaint sarcasm. The
serpent creeping through our house had bitten her most severely of all.
To Mrs. Lee the girl was more humble and heedful than ever; to us she
was abrupt.
This state of things could not continue without results. With feelings
smouldering like the fire which turns wood into charcoal, this general
irritation would break forth.
Jessie was the first to give way. For some time she had scarcely spoken
to Mrs. Dennison, except in a grave, quiet fashion, which was as far
from rudeness as it was from cordial hospitality. Sometimes this checked
Mrs. Dennison's great flow of spirits, and she would take on a look of
gentle martyrdom that must have had a peculiar fascination to one who
did not understand her.
I do not know how it arose, for I had left the table; but one day Jessie
came into the library, to which I had retreated, looking greatly
excited; her eyes were full of troubled fire, and there was a stern
pressure of the beautiful lips that I had never seen before. She did not
speak, but walking up to the window, stood looking through it steadily,
as if some beautiful landscape lay beyond, which she was examining
through the gorgeous coloring, and which admitted of nothing beyond its
own richness.
It was a gloomy day outside, and her face looked more sorrowfully sombre
from all our surroundings.
I had arisen and was going toward her, when the door opened and Mr. Lee
came in. How much the father and child looked alike at the moment! I had
never seen either of them so imperial in their anger before.
Mr. Lee did not observe me, I think, but he walked across the library
and laid one hand on Jessie's shoulder as she stood with her back toward
him. She drew aside and looked up in her father's face.
"Jessie," he said, "what is the meaning of this? What have you been
saying to wound Mrs. Dennison so terribly?"
Jessie struggled with herself; I could detect it by the blue veins that
rose along her neck and forehead; but her countenance changed in
nothing, and she answered his stern question steadily.
"I have done nothing that should wound Mrs. Dennison, father."
"But I left you at the breakfast-table with our guest tranquil as usual.
When I came back, you were gone, and I found her in tears."
"I cannot answer for the lady's tears, father. She was shedding none
when I came out of the breakfast-room."
"This is an evasion, Jessie. I insist upon knowing what passed between
you and our guest after I left the room."
"You have a right to question me, father; but indeed I cannot tell you.
Mrs. Dennison said something about what we should do next winter; and I
looked at her a moment, in displeasure perhaps, for she has already
stayed far beyond the time usual for our guests; and I am not aware that
any one has extended a second invitation to her. I certainly have not."
Mr. Lee's face darkened.
"And is this what you have done?--given her one of your haughty looks,
and at my table, Jessie Lee?"
"Father!"
"Do not call me father. Do not speak to me again until you have
apologized to the lady for this rudeness."
Mr. Lee's voice was stern, almost cruel, as he said this. Jessie grew
pale as death.
"Father, I cannot apologize for anything I have done; it is impossible
when the lady entered a complaint to you--"
Mr. Lee interrupted her.
"Mrs. Dennison entered no complaint."
"Oh, father! and you were ready to condemn me without a word. When was
this so before?"
"When were you rebellious before?"
Jessie's lips began to quiver.
"When did we have trouble like this? When was it that we became a
divided family?" she said. "Never till I was unhappy enough to invite
this lady here."
"She was your own guest, and you have treated her cruelly," said Mr.
Lee, softening a little.
"No, father, not cruelly; coldly, perhaps, but not cruelly!"
"And why coldly?"
"Because I do not like Mrs. Dennison."
"And why, pray?"
"Because she comes between you and your own child--between you and your
own wife--because--"
"Jessie," I said, rising from my seat, and for the first time becoming
visible to Mr. Lee,--"Jessie--"
"It is well, Martha, that you are here to check her. Another word, and
she would have been no longer a daughter of mine."
He was white as marble. Never in my life had I seen him so agitated.
Jessie looked at him sorrowfully. There was something more than anger in
his face--a wild, troubled doubt, that made him tremble. Jessie laid her
hand on his arm, and her lips quivered into a smile.
"Oh, father! listen to me. Let this lady go; take us back to your heart
again; her influence here has been terrible."
He shook off her hand, drew himself up, and spoke with proud
calmness,--
"Jessie, be careful, if you would not forfeit my love--at once be
careful."
Jessie drew back, and leaned on my shoulder, trembling from head to
foot. The idea that her father could ever really turn against her had
entered her heart for the first time. She was so white that her very
face terrified me.
"Speak to him," she whispered,--"speak to him."
I was about to say something, but Mr. Lee waved his hand, silencing me
with a haughty gesture. Jessie stood up, and spoke in a low, sad
voice,--
"Father, if I have done wrong, tell me how to atone for it, and I will
obey you."
Mr. Lee turned away, walking the room three or four times before he
answered. Then he took Jessie's cold hand, with some degree of returning
kindness, while she stood, with downcast eyes, waiting for the
humiliation his words would convey.
"Be yourself, my child; conquer your unreasonable prejudice against the
lady who has been of great service to your mother, and is in every way
estimable. I do not ask any unnecessary humiliation of my daughter; but
be your own gracious self again, Jessie, and she will understand that
you are sorry."
Jessie bent her bowed face a little lower, in token of acquiescence,
and, bending his grand head, Mr. Lee kissed her. Then, turning to me, he
said, with stern significance,--
"You will remember, Miss Hyde, these scenes are not to be renewed."
When he was gone, Jessie threw herself on the floor, and, folding her
arms in the seat of an easy-chair, moaned piteously. She did not
cry--the pain at her proud heart seemed too hot for tears. I tried to
console her; but she only murmured,--
"You were right; I am not fit to be trusted with such things. They burn
me like fire."