OLD-FASHIONED POLITENESS.
When I entered Jessie's room, the old lady was busy arranging some
flowers, which they had brought, in a vase near the window. She had put
on her gold spectacles, and was examining the tints so carefully, that
there was no room for attention anywhere else.
Bosworth was sitting near Jessie, looking so pleased at being permitted
to her presence, that I could not help a throb of sympathetic pleasure.
He had, I am sure, been holding Jessie's hand; for as I came in, she
withdrew it with a hasty movement, and its delicate whiteness was
flushed, as if warm lips had touched it. No wonder the young man was
happy! Jessie Lee would never have permitted that bearded mouth to
approach her hand unless a true heart had beaten quicker to the touch.
Lawrence had gained no favor like that in the time of his greatest
power.
The old duchess was looking through her spectacles just as I came in;
but not exactly at the flowers, or that bland little smile would never
have made her mouth look so young, or that demure blush have settled on
her soft cheek. Dear old lady! All those years, while they taught her
limbs the uses of a staff, had left her heart fresh and modest as a
girl's. How transparent was the gentle artifice with which she beguiled
me out of the room, to search for some purple heliotrope that might
soften the tints of her bouquet!
As Jessie grew better, these visits were repeated. Young Bosworth seldom
failed to come with his grandmother; and after a little the old lady
would often stay behind, contenting herself with some message, or a
present of fruit and flowers. Then no excuse became necessary, except
that Jessie required a stronger arm than mine to support her first walks
in the garden; and after that the young man seemed more at home in our
house than he could have been in the fine old mansion behind the hill.
Spite of the painful circumstances that had left us so lonely, we were
beginning to feel the strength of our lives slowly returning. True,
there was an undercurrent of deep, deep trouble all the time sweeping
through an existence that seemed so bright to others.
The cruel absence of Mr. Lee, his determined silence, always lay heavily
upon us; but it was not as if we had deserved the stern displeasure
which had driven him away; and if we mourned over this great sorrow,
there was some relief in the oppression that Mrs. Dennison's departure
had taken away.
Of this woman we heard nothing, and her name was seldom mentioned, even
by Lottie. We all shrunk in terror from the reminiscences connected
with her. Still our lives were more endurable than they had been for
many a month; and but for the aching pain which sprung out of that scene
in the library, we might have been tranquil,--sad with the great loss
which had fallen upon the house, but hopeful for the future.
But with that gentle woman, lying in her last sleep down in the valley,
and the power of our house gone from us, we could only wait and hope
that God, in his infinite justice, would yet unfold the truth to Mr.
Lee, and give him back to his home.
Sometimes Jessie and I would talk over these matters when quite alone in
her room; but the whole chain of events was too inexplicable and full of
pain for frequent mention. Jessie hardly yet comprehended the enormity
of the charge brought against her. What was in the letter which her
dying mother had grasped so tightly to the last moment? Who had written
it? Was the handwriting like hers--did I think? Her head had been so
dizzy that she could not make out a line of it.
These were the questions she would now and then put to me. I told her
what the anonymous letter to Mrs. Dennison contained, but I had no heart
to enlighten her with regard to my conjectures about the other. Nor
could I for one moment guess what its import might have been, except
from Mr. Lee's words, and the terrible effect it had produced upon him.
Never for an instant did I doubt Jessie's innocence in the matter,
whatever it might prove. She was truth itself.
Sometimes I wondered if Lottie had not written those fatal missives. The
girl was bright and sharp as steel. She was not without education; and I
remembered, in confirmation of these doubts, that of late I had often
found her writing something which she endeavored to conceal. Had she
not, in her practice, copied Jessie's handwriting, and taken this
method of warning her mistress? Nothing was more natural. The girl might
thus unconsciously have cast suspicion on her young lady.
That Lottie was capable of writing the letters, I had no doubt--not with
malice, but from an ardent desire to drive the woman who had wounded us
so deeply from the house. With her crude ideas, and intense devotion to
us all, she might have settled on this method of ridding the house of
its torment.
I questioned Lottie on this subject, so far as I could venture, without
informing her of what had passed in the library, of which she was
entirely ignorant; but she declared that she knew nothing of the letter,
which had been given to her mistress, till it was placed in her own
hands by the man who brought our mails from the town. As for Mrs.
Dennison, she would as soon touch a copperhead as write a word to that
she-Babylon.
All this might be true. At any rate, Lottie looked truthful when she
said it; but in her sayings and doings, the girl was not altogether as
clear as crystal, and, spite of her protestations, I had some doubt
left.
No person except Jessie and myself, either in the house or neighborhood,
knew the reason of Mr. Lee's sudden departure. It was understood that,
broken down by the death of his wife, he had sought distraction from
grief in travelling. So the secret, growing more and more bitter every
day--for we received no letters--rested between us two. As the time wore
on, we became miserably anxious.
Had Mr. Lee utterly abandoned his daughter? Would he never return to his
home and prove how true and loving she had always been? His cruel anger
had thrown her almost upon a bed of death, yet he could go from his home
without a word of inquiry or comfort.
Jessie was a proud girl, as I have said more than once, and as young
Lawrence had good reason to know; but all her haughty self-esteem gave
way where her father was concerned. She never blamed him, nor ceased to
pine for his presence. What it was that had separated them she could not
understand; but that her father was unjust or wrong, never entered her
mind for an instant.
As for me--but what right had I in the matter? The right of anxiety such
as eats all happiness out of a human life--the hungry feeling of a
beggar that dares not ask for food.
I think we should have gone insane--Jessie and I--if this terrible
anxiety had been without its relief; but, as days and weeks passed,
bringing no letter, no message, we sunk gradually into a state of
despair, not the less wearying that it was silent.
Thus six months crept by. The duties of life went on--the household
routine met with no obstruction. It was wonderful how little change
appeared around us. Yet the tower-chamber was empty, and _he_ was
gone,--we, two lonely women, lived on, to all appearance, the same; but
oh! how changed at heart!