THE FATAL LETTER.
After this scene, our house was quiet as the grave--not a laugh sounded
within its walls, not a brilliant word enlightened the stiff monotony.
Jessie kept her promise. Nothing could be sweeter or more gracious than
her manner toward Mrs. Dennison; but all this was accompanied by no
warmth. It was impossible to find fault with anything she did or said,
yet her submission seemed to annoy our guest more than anything. It
proved how deep was the gulf which lay between them.
As for me, nothing could render my position more disagreeable than it
had already become. A few days after that scene in the library, I was
sitting with Mrs. Lee, while Lottie went out for a little recreation.
Mr. Lee, Mrs. Dennison, and Jessie, had gone out on horseback, and, with
the enemy away, Lottie thought that I might be trusted with her charge;
but while Mrs. Dennison was in the mansion, she never would leave her
post on any consideration. With all the keen longings of youth for
change, this confinement, voluntary though it was, told painfully on the
young girl, and when she did get a few moments of freedom, it was seized
upon as a bird darts from its cage.
That morning she was gone some time, having taken a run through the
grounds with a favorite dog that always followed her footsteps. I saw
them rioting up and down among the flower-beds, with a feeling of
thankfulness that anything on earth could find enjoyment when my heart
was so heavy!
Mrs. Lee was unusually silent that day, and, without asking me to read,
amused herself with a book of engravings that Mr. Lee had ordered for
her from the town. I felt the change. Every day this lady, who had been
my dear friend so long, seemed more and more independent of me. Lottie
she still clung to, but I had become a useless waif in the household.
While thinking over these depressing truths, I watched with a vague
sensation of regret. All at once I saw her stop, beat the dog back, and
shade her eyes with one hand. It was only one of our people, who had
been over to the town, and had attracted her observation. I saw the man
beckon to her. She darted down the walk, along the sloping lawn, and
over the wall, holding out her hands for a package which he held out.
There was some talk between them as the man gathered up his bridle,
while she examined something in her hands which seemed like a letter.
Then, nodding her head repeatedly, she ran toward the house.
I cannot tell why it was, but these movements interested me greatly. A
strange apprehension took possession of me, and I began to wonder what
the letters could be about--if any of them related to me, and if new
trouble was coming.
In the midst of these vague thoughts, Lottie came into the room, with a
letter in her hands.
"I left all the rest, papers, books, and trash, on the hall-table," she
cried, joyously; "but here's a letter for the dear mistress, and I
brought it up. Such a nice letter--white and satiny as the leaves of a
water-lily! I know there is something sweet and good in it that will
make you smile."
She went up to Mrs. Lee, dropped on one knee at her feet--a common thing
with the strange girl--and held up the letter between her hands.
Mrs. Lee took it, with a pink flush of the cheek. During her long
illness she had gradually given up writing, and a letter, directly to
herself, was an event sufficiently rare to create a little excitement.
Lottie's prophecy regarding the letter brought a smile to those usually
pale lips. She broke the seal, took the letter from its envelope, and
murmured, pleasantly,--
"If it is something very pleasant, you shall have a new dress, Lottie."
This promise kept the girl on her knees, reading the face of her
mistress with keen eagerness. She saw it change as if a flash of fire
passed from neck to forehead; then a cold, gray tint settled over it so
gradually, that no one could tell when it came.
Lottie sprang to her feet with a sharp cry.
Mrs. Lee had fainted--no, not that; no common fainting fit ever took a
form so painful--a look of unutterable misery had settled on the face,
impressive as the agony which has become immortal in the features of
that marble father who strives to rescue his children from the writhing
serpents in the Vatican.
Mrs. Lee had fallen sideway in her chair. The movement had been gradual,
and accompanied the gray changes of her face with such stillness, that
its meaning did not strike Lottie till she sprang up and uttered that
cry.
We lifted the lady from her chair and laid her on the bed. She gave no
sign of life, but seemed to be growing colder and colder. Lottie
attempted to draw the letter from her hand, but her fingers clung to it
with a tenacity which could not be forced without wounding the hand; so
we left the paper in her grasp.
What we did I cannot tell. Everything that two frightened creatures
could devise we attempted, in order to restore her; but it seemed to me
an age before any sign of life returned.
At last a shiver passed over her, and, with her disengaged hand, she
tore at the muslin over her bosom as if some pain were burning at her
heart, and then I saw her poor lips redden for the first time--but it
was with blood. Piteously she opened her eyes and looked into ours. She
had not recovered then, nor did she remember what event had produced
this illness.
I could tell when the first dawn of a recollection came upon her, for
she rustled the letter in her hand as if to be sure it was there, and a
reality; then the pain all came back to her features, and the blood came
in heavier drops up from her broken heart.
They came back from a long ride while she lay thus. We had sent for the
doctor, and sat by her in helpless grief, waiting his arrival. I went
out to meet Jessie, intending to break the painful intelligence of her
mother's attack to her with gentleness. She was coming up the steps with
a harassed look. The weight of her skirts seemed to drag at her frail
strength. Mrs. Dennison was lower down the steps, looking over her
shoulder at Mr. Lee, and talking in a gay, excited manner that did not
seem quite natural. Jessie looked upward, with a weary, sad glance as I
came down the walk, and I saw that the company of this woman was
oppressing her dreadfully.
I was so pale in those days that my countenance did not frighten Jessie
as it might have done in happier times; thus I was obliged to tell her
in words that something had happened to injure her mother, and that she
lay in great danger in the tower-room. I shall never forget the wild
agony of those eyes. She did not speak a word, but passed me like a
shadow.
Mrs. Dennison's strained laugh followed her with a sound of the most
cruel mockery I ever heard. It was altogether unintentional. The woman
had not seen me, nor was she aware that Jessie had disappeared; she was
only bantering words with her host in her usual fashion, while he was
preparing to follow up the steps.
I stood upon the edge of the terrace and watched them as they came up.
There was no cheerfulness in the woman. Her cheeks were hot and red, her
eyes full of restless fire. She understood my countenance better than
Jessie had done; for a look of something like affright swept her face,
and the heavy riding-skirt dropped from her hold, entangling her feet
till she stumbled and almost fell.
Mr. Lee sprang forward and saved her.
"What is the matter? What has happened?" he questioned.
She laughed nervously.
"Nothing. It was Miss Hyde standing there like a Nemesis that startled
me."
Mr. Lee glanced upward, and said something in an under-tone, at which
she said,--
"How unkind you are to the poor thing."
I had hesitated to tell Mr. Lee that his wife was on her death-bed--the
shock at my own heart was so painful that I pitied him; but now a cruel
strength came over me, and I said at once, in a cold, hard way,--
"Your wife is ill, sir, very ill--I fear dying."
He left that woman standing alone in her cowardly sin, and went swiftly,
as his daughter had done, toward the tower-room. Mrs. Dennison gave a
light scream and followed, demanding of me how it had happened, and who
had been near to harm the dear saint.
I gave her no answer. The very sound of her voice made me shudder with
fresh loathing. She had been pale for a moment, but now all the fire
came into her countenance again, and she passed me haughtily, saying,--
"Stupid as ever--I will inquire for myself."