"Foul jealousy! that turnest love divine
To joyless dread, or mak'st the loving heart
With hateful thoughts to languish and to pine,
And feed itself with self-consuming smart;
Of all the passions in the mind thou vilest art." SPENSER.
_Evening, October 19th._
We reached B---- on Tuesday evening, September 22d, where we were
cordially welcomed by Mrs. Morgan, a sister of Frank's father. The
family consists of Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, and their son Joseph Lenox,
named for his uncle. There was also Mrs. Fidelia Schuyler, an orphan
niece of aunt Morgan, who had been married but a few months. She is a
child of aunt Morgan's brother, who has been deceased many years. As I
shall have much to say of her, I will describe her as she presented
herself to me at the time. She appeared to be about twenty years of age,
with very light flaxen hair, hanging in loose curls at the side of her
face. She had blue eyes, and a somewhat fair complexion. At the first
glance I thought her a very little like Emily in expression; but
afterwards wondered how I could have thought so. Emily's eyes are a
splendid gray, fringed with long, black lashes, and her hair is the
darkest shade of auburn, like Frank's.
Fidelia received me cordially enough; as I was a stranger, I could not
expect she would be as glad to see me as she was to see her own cousin.
I felt almost hurt that Frank did not more fully reciprocate her joy at
their meeting. There was a perfect fascination to me about this young
bride. She was constantly changing like the colors and figures in a
kaleidoscope. Sometimes she would introduce conversation with the Doctor
upon politics, and really talk very sensibly, so that I felt ashamed
that I was ignorant of such subjects. Then she would talk of old times
in a manner I did not at all understand. I fancied once or twice that
Frank, to whom all this conversation was addressed, looked rather
annoyed, and supposed it was in consequence of my listening so closely;
I therefore turned to my cousin Joseph. He claimed me as such, before I
stepped from the carriage. He is a fine intelligent youth near my own
age I should imagine; and though he made many inquiries about his aunt
and Emily, which I was occupied in answering, yet I could not wholly
withdraw my attention from the cousin near me. Her voice would often
drop to so low a key that I could not distinguish the words; but its
intonation was soft and languishing, and her whole appearance, to say
the least, as she sat upon the sofa with Frank, was certainly
_peculiar_. Joseph observed my frequent glances in that direction, and
he whispered, "The greatest coquette," motioning with his head towards
his cousin, "in the known world."
"Is she a widow then?" I asked eagerly, "I understood aunt she was
_Mrs._ Schuyler; if so, I should hardly think, she would waste her
energies on a _married_ man. _You_ would be a better subject." He
laughed so heartily that for a minute or so, he interrupted the
conversation on the sofa, when I heard Fidelia say to Frank, in a voice
hardly raised above a whisper, "Your wife seems very free and easy; I
suppose it results from her being educated in Paris. One would think
from her manner, she had been acquainted with Joseph a long time."
I could hear no more, for at that moment Joseph commenced again.
"My dear coz, how old do you take me to be?"
"About as old as I am," I replied.
"Ah! now, I shall have a fine chance to find your age. Doctor," said
he, breaking in upon their conversation, "will you favor me with the
exact age of your wife?" The Doctor looked as if he did not quite
understand.
"She thinks," he continued, "that I am about as old as she is. Now to
ascertain the correctness of this judgment, I apply to you for the year,
month, and day, of her birth."
"How vulgar," whispered Fidelia.
I laughed at the mock gravity of his manner, and should have been
entirely deceived by it, had it not been for a merry glance from his
eye. "I could easily have answered the question," said I, "if you had
applied to me; I was born, as I have been informed, on the fourth day of
February, one thousand eight hundred and seventeen, and am therefore, at
the present time, eighteen years, seven months, and eighteen days." I
imitated his manner as I replied. He bowed almost to the floor, and
resumed his seat.
"Astonishing!" murmured Fidelia, "she is very free to tell her age, now
she is _married_."
Frank started to meet his aunt who was returning to the room after
having attended to her evening duties. He led her to a distance, where
they were soon absorbed in an interesting conversation, in which they
were joined by uncle Morgan, a thorough gentleman of the old school,
perhaps a little too formal in his extreme politeness, but a very
excellent husband and father. He is a lawyer, and a man of considerable
wealth. Fidelia often looked that way as if wishing to follow her
cousin, but at length left the sofa, and took a seat near us; but not
before Joseph had asked me in a hurried manner how old I thought she
was.
"I will 'guess,'" said I, "she is nineteen or twenty."
"Add ten to that," he replied quickly, as she approached.
After half an hour, during which time Joseph did most of the talking,
aunt came to me remarking that I looked very tired and had better
retire. This I was glad to do, and she said she would accompany me; but
Fidelia begged so earnestly for the privilege, that I requested aunt to
remain with Frank. Contrary to my expectation, and indeed to my wish,
she entered my room, and remained so long I had no excuse for not
undressing; and at length was obliged to do so in the presence of an
entire stranger. She continued talking, however, in a most confidential
strain. "I suppose you don't wonder," she commenced, "that Frank, (the
rest of the family called him Doctor,) and I are so glad to see one
another, considering,"--she stopped.
"Considering what?" I asked in surprise at her manner, which implied far
more than her words expressed.
She hesitated, "why _considering_ that we were brought up together. Aunt
Lenox adopted me when mother died, and I always lived at your house.
What room do you occupy?" she asked.
I answered reluctantly, though I could not tell why. There was something
very unpleasant about her conversation. It always, unintentionally
perhaps, left a sting. She went on to inform me in the strictest
confidence, that she and Frank had been fondly attached to one another.
"Why," I asked, "was this friendship given up?"
"_Friendship_," she repeated in a theatrical tone, "say rather ardent
_love_!" I could not prevent my voice from trembling a little as I
repeated my question.
"Oh!" she replied with a mysterious air, "aunt Lenox--peculiar
reasons."--She suddenly started on hearing a step; and whispering, "not
a word of all this, my dear," hastily left me.
I don't think I could have endured it a moment longer. I never felt so
thoroughly "worked up," as the Yankees say; and for five minutes I would
have given every thing I possessed, could I have been safely at home
under my own dear mother's roof. When Frank came up, I could only feign
sleep in order to conceal my new and strange emotions of distrust and
jealousy, Fidelia had awakened in my mind. I forced myself to be quiet
until Frank was asleep, when I could contain myself no longer. With my
face buried in the pillow to stifle my sobs, I wept until I could weep
no longer. I lay awake all night, revolving the dreadful deception which
I fancied had been practised upon me. I could well understand, I
thought, why mother Lenox had never even mentioned Fidelia's name in my
presence. Nor could I account for the fact that Frank had not, except
upon the supposition that what she had told me was true. Indeed the
truth of her story I did not for a moment doubt.
_Tuesday, October 20th._
When I awoke the next morning, which I did from a troubled nap after
day-break, I could not at first remember what had happened, such a heavy
weight was upon my spirits. If any one had told me then, that I was not
the most unhappy person in the world, I should have considered them very
unkind.
Frank actually started when I tried to rise, and would have persuaded me
to lie down again; but I was determined to do as I chose, and persisted
until a sudden fit of faintness compelled me to return to my bed. I felt
so severely the effects of my night's excitement, that I began to be
really anxious about the result. If Frank spoke to me, I averted my
head. I could not endure to meet his eye; and when he kindly went below
and brought a cup of coffee to the bed, I refused to take it. I could
only sob and say, "I want to go home. I must see my own mother."
The Doctor was now seriously alarmed, and went for aunt. With true
motherly kindness, she administered to me, persuaded me to drink the
coffee and eat a slice of dry toast. She then smoothed my pillow,
darkened the room and left me, after a promise that I would at least try
to sleep. She left a small bell upon the table, and said, "no one shall
come in until you ring."
To my surprise, when I awoke, the sun was shining high in the heavens;
and on my consulting my watch, I found it was near noon. I arose quietly
and dressed, and not a little astonished the company sitting in the
parlor below, by my sudden entrance. It made me feel no better,
however, to perceive, as I did at a glance, that my husband and his
cousin occupied seats near each other on the sofa, as on the previous
evening. But the Doctor was busily engaged in reading, and did not
perceive me until I had advanced to the middle of the room.
"There, Frank," exclaimed Fidelia, as he sprang up to give me his seat,
"I told you, you were unnecessarily alarmed. Now, sweet cousin," said
she, turning to look up in my face, and mincing her words, "confess you
were only shamming."
"Fidelia," said my aunt, in a stern voice. I did not look to see what
Frank thought; I did not care. I covered my eyes to prevent the tears
from being seen. I wanted to keep them covered forever rather than to
see Fidelia's face again. In justice to myself, I ought to say, that
probably this state of mind, which was greatly aggravated by the
condition of my health, would soon have passed away, had it not been for
the continual suggestions and insinuations of Fidelia. Sometimes by a
word, sometimes by a significant shrug of the shoulders; then, again, by
a glance of the eye, she gave a false coloring to the most trivial words
or actions, and
"Trifles, light as air,
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong
As proofs of holy writ."
All this time, the Doctor grew every day more and more grave, almost
stern. Now and then, when I looked up suddenly, I met his eye fixed upon
me in a serious, inquiring manner, as if he would read my very thoughts.
Though I felt that I was innocent of any wrong toward him, and that he
had deceived and wronged me, yet I could not help looking very much
confused.
Joseph, good kind Joseph, was the life of the house. He devoted himself
to my comfort. He read to me, told me stories, and was never tired of
hearing me talk about my sweet little Pauline. Oh! how in imagination, I
hugged the little thing to my heart, as the only one on earth in whom I
could repose entire trust. Joseph wove many a tale out of her romantic
story, in which by turns she figured as a Countess, a Duchess, or, at
least, as Lady Pauline. I told him, I was entirely satisfied to have her
plain Pauline Lenox. Then the merry fellow asked me to educate her for a
wife for him. "That would be just the thing, and your desire could be
satisfied by having her name unchanged, I would merely add Morgan to it.
"Now, Coz" said he one day, "I'm serious about this matter; I've been
looking about for a year or two; and I have seen no one whom I should
wish to honor with my name and title. I lay awake all last night
thinking what a fine thing it would be to have her educated for me."
I could not help laughing as I replied, "I should shrink from so
responsible an employment."
"Why, Coz," he said earnestly, unconsciously raising his voice, "Make
her like yourself. I ask no greater joy than to possess the hand of one
in every respect like yourself."
At the last sentence, I noticed that Fidelia gave the Doctor a quick
glance to direct his attention to us; and I heard her say, "quite
sentimental." Frank started from his chair with a terrible look, such as
I had never seen but once before, and that was when I told him of
Emily's treatment of Mr. Benson. He walked quickly across the room, but
appearing to recollect himself, he took a book and resumed his seat. I
detected a smile of exultation on Fidelia's face which in vain I tried
to account for or understand.
Joseph bent down over me, taking my hand as he did so, and while he
played with the rings on my fingers said, sinking his voice to the
lowest key, "What can the matter be? You may always be sure there is
mischief where Fidelia is."
I started;--how true this had been in my case! I fell into a long
reverie; so long that Joseph took up a paper to read. I thought over all
she had told me from our first interview; looking at this subject and
that by the light of the new revelation, I had of her character. But
there were stern facts to be met. She had passed all the early part of
her life in the closest intimacy with my husband; they had loved each
other ardently; nay, she had hinted that at one time they were
affianced. And yet this had been sacredly kept from me, while he had
often told me I was the first object of his affection. Then I could not
shut my eyes to the fact that Frank was entirely different in his manner
toward me. I could hardly believe him to be the same man. As day after
day passed he grew more and more polite; but it was a _frigid_
politeness, which chilled my very blood; and this, too, at a time when
my health demanded unusual tenderness. I sometimes wonder even now, how
all this could have happened, and Aunt Morgan not have noticed it more
particularly. But then I remember that she had not known her nephew
intimately for many years; and I was a perfect stranger to her. She knew
not that, until we arrived at her house, we had been all the world to
each other.
On Saturday afternoon, Mr. Schuyler arrived. He is of German origin,
rather abrupt in manner, but possessing naturally, I should imagine, a
warm heart and capable of making a loving wife happy by the strength of
his affection. But I had not been in company with them many hours before
I saw that Mrs. Schuyler was recklessly throwing away her own happiness,
and that of her husband. By every means in her power, she contrived to
render him she had sworn to "love, honor and obey," uncomfortable, nay,
even _wretched_. He had some slight peculiarities of person to which she
referred in the presence of the family, in a manner so unbecoming and
unlady-like, that my cheeks burned with shame and indignation. I could
see that it was with difficulty that he refrained from giving her a tart
reply.
But all other annoyances were slight compared with the one great desire
which had taken possession of her soul, which was to render her husband
jealous of the Doctor. To this one purpose she bent all her powers. I
cannot describe to you the variety of conflicting emotions struggling
for mastery during the hours of that never to be forgotten Sabbath. I
had slept little the night previous, but had lain awake revolving the
character of my cousin, and, for the first time, doubts of her
truthfulness began to intrude themselves into my mind. I acknowledged
her fascination, her great conversational powers, but I could not shut
my eyes to the fact that all these gifts were perverted to unlawful
purposes, such as would surely destroy not only her own, and her
husband's happiness, but the happiness of all with whom she associated.
Even in my troubled sleep she was before me, and appeared like the
serpents I had read of, who fascinate and charm but to destroy.
On Sabbath morning, Fidelia appeared elaborately dressed and really
looked beautiful. Frank's eyes rested upon her with such a singular
expression that I looked at him with wonder. I had before thought her
free in manner with him, but now I was amazed. I had never even imagined
any person so artfully insinuating. Sometimes I determined to leave the
room, unable longer to endure the annoyance and excitement; but the next
moment I was restrained by a desire to see what would follow.
Directly after family prayers, she availed herself of a seat near the
Doctor, and, leaning familiarly on the arm of his chair, said, "Dear
Frank, I've so often longed to talk with you upon some subjects
connected with my spiritual interests! You, dear cousin, always
understood my inner nature, my better feelings. Oh," said she, slightly
raising her voice, and sighing heavily as she glanced toward her
husband, "how I have longed for a congenial spirit--for some one who
could appreciate my aspirations after higher good. Dear cousin," she
added, laying her hand on his, and gazing up into his face with an
expression of languishing fondness, "those were blissful days when we
scarce called a thought or wish our own, until we had imparted it to
each other."
Frank started from his seat, and I was sure there was a strong
expression of disgust upon his countenance. But the indignant husband
saw not this. He had caught his hat and rushed from the house.
Fidelia remarked with a sneer, "it is a great grief to me that I have
never been able to prevail with Mr. Schuyler to keep in doors on the
Sabbath. It is really disgraceful to see any one so openly profane the
day."
"Fidelia," said the Doctor, in a reproving tone, "The God of the Sabbath
requires not only an outward observance, but a regulation of the
thoughts and feelings of the heart. We may offend him as truly by
indulging in unkind thoughts or improper feelings, as by any outward
violation of the sanctity of the day."
I expected Fidelia would be offended by the plainness of this speech;
but to my surprise she caught Frank's hand, and pressed it again and
again to her lips; and with her eyes, which were humid with tears fixed
lovingly upon his, she said in a sad tone, "Oh, Frank! if I could only
have had you near me to point out my faults kindly and tenderly, I might
have been happy and good. Don't blame your poor Fidelia, who, connected
with a man with whom she has not a single feeling of communion, is
indeed very miserable."
The Doctor appeared much perplexed and annoyed, while Uncle Morgan
walked angrily out of the room. Joseph came and sat down by me, and
began in a low voice to talk of his wonder that the Doctor did not see
through and despise her hypocrisy. "I can endure anything else," said
he, while an expression of intense abhorrence passed over his
countenance; "but when she gets on to one of her _pious_ strains, I have
to call to mind all the consistent piety of my parents to keep me from
thinking religion a farce."
"Dear Joseph," said I, "it distresses me to hear you speak so lightly
upon religious subjects. It is the want of religion your reason
disapproves. Believe me, true piety never repels in the way you
mention." I looked up to meet the eyes of my husband fixed upon me with
such sadness that the blood burned in my cheeks. I felt, from Fidelia's
looks, there was something wrong; but what, I could not imagine. The
Doctor left the room, and soon his cousin retired to dress for church.
Joseph wished to remain with me, but this I would by no means allow. I
intended to retire to my own apartment, and spend the time in a manner
befitting the sacredness of the day.
When the church bell rang, the family assembled in the parlor; and as
Mr. Schuyler had not returned, Fidelia put her arm in Frank's before
they left the house. I could not resist the inclination to look at them
from the window. She hung heavily on his arm as she lovingly turned her
face to his. I pressed my hand to my heart to still a rising thought
prejudicial to my husband, and returned for a moment to my seat. Before
I had recovered myself sufficiently to go to my room, the outer door
burst open, and Mr. Schuyler entered, in no enviable frame of mind. He
had met his wife and Frank on their way to church, and had only needed
the look of unmistakable affection with which she regarded her companion
to raise his jealousy to the highest pitch.
He appeared wholly unconscious of my presence, but walked with hasty
strides across the room, soliloquizing in an angry manner: "A pretty
life she leads me! She says, they were formerly engaged to be married.
Upon my soul, I believe it; though I've found out long ago she has no
more regard for the truth than that," vehemently snapping his fingers.
"Fool that I was to marry her--to be so taken in by a pretty face and
languishing looks! Bah! it makes me sick to see her fawning round the
Doctor."
He walked to the mantel piece and stood for a moment looking into the
fire, when he commenced again, "I thought her an angel of goodness. If
it had been real she might have moulded me into what she pleased. Upon
my soul," with a half uttered oath between his teeth, "I believe she's
possessed of all the devils that were cast out of Mary Magdalene. I've
made up my mind what course to pursue." After a short pause, he added
with a sigh of relief, "Yes, I have it! She was poor--she married me for
my money,--well--yes, that will serve her right," and his hollow laugh
made me shudder. "And yet," he added, in a softened tone, while his good
spirit again seemed pleading, "how I loved her,--how happy we might have
been--well, we shall see,--_we shall see_!"
Many times since the entrance of Mr. Schuyler, I had started from my
seat intending to say something to soothe his anger, but as often had
sunk back powerless. I was myself suffering, and what could I say? But
the agony he endured; the jealousy and desire for revenge exhibited by
him opened my eyes to the fearful brink upon which I stood, and I firmly
resolved by the help of God, to give no sleep to my eyes until I had
unburdened my heart to my husband, and besought a return of his
confidence and love. I saw plainly where I had sinned, in the coldness
and reserve which was creeping between us; and I said to myself, "_God
helping me, it shall be so no longer._" I arose silently and retired to
my room, where I prayed fervently for strength to tear up every root of
unkindness, distrust and jealousy which I had cherished toward my dear
husband. I was happier already.
Long before I had begun to expect them, the family returned from morning
service. I heard the outer door open, and Frank, after ascertaining that
I was not in the parlor, hastened up stairs. I smiled as I held out my
hand to him, and said, "I did not expect you so soon."
He did not return the smile, but pressed my hand against his heart, and
said with emotion, "Oh, _Cora_! CORA!!"
At that moment the bell rang for dinner, and Frank putting my hand in
his arm led me below. Oh! how my heart bounded at this simple act of
tenderness! I felt strong to endure whatever insults Fidelia might
offer. "If I only have my husband's love," I said to myself, "I defy you
to injure me."
When we were seated at dinner, Joseph said, "what have you been doing,
Cousin Cora? I never before saw you look so happy." All eyes were turned
toward me, and I caught one glance of love from my dear Frank which
certainly did not diminish my color.
Fidelia noticed it, and looked at Frank as if she thought herself
personally aggrieved, while the next moment she cast a glance of
defiance at her husband in reply to the scornful sneer with which he
regarded her. The Doctor persisted in being silent, and kept his eyes
fixed on his plate, notwithstanding all his cousin's attempts to engage
him in conversation, while Joseph bit his lips to keep from laughing to
see her for once so completely foiled.
The moment dinner was over, Frank turned to leave the room, after giving
me an imploring glance to accompany him; but not before his cousin had
stepped forward and laying her hand on his arm detained him while she
said something I could not hear.
"Impossible!" he replied aloud, "I am otherwise engaged;" and he led me
from the room. A malignant scowl darkened her face; but I think Frank
did not see it. We entered our room, but had hardly closed the door when
some one knocked. With a gesture of impatience he opened it, when to my
surprise Mr. Schuyler stood in the passage pale and trembling from
suppressed excitement.
"Can I speak one word with you, Doctor?"
"Certainly, walk in."
"Perhaps you will think me strange; but you will excuse my asking you if
you love my wife?"
Frank started forward with the simple word, "Sir," in a tone which
implied that he considered the question an insult.
"Yet," continued Mr. Schuyler, "My wife affirms that such is the case;
and that during the last few days you have repeatedly told her so."
I had fallen back in my chair when Frank's looks arrested my attention.
There was not a particle of color in his face or lips, and for a moment
there was a terrible struggle to control his anger; but at length he
said, in a low, firm voice, "She has deceived you. I have never loved
her. From a boy I have loathed her character. God forgive me," he added
in a hoarse voice, "but I can hardly hear her name with patience. She
has even endeavored to"--with a quick glance of sorrow at me, he checked
himself, and then exclaimed, turning to the window to conceal his
feelings, "Oh, why did I believe her?"
"Enough," said Mr. Schuyler, whose countenance had gradually assumed a
fixedness of expression dreadful to witness, "I see you are aware of the
intrinsic beauty, and loveliness of the character of the woman I have
the honor to call my wife." These words were said in a tone of bitter
irony which it is impossible to describe; but he immediately added,
lowering his voice, "Dr. Lenox, I have foolishly distrusted your honor.
I ask your forgiveness."
Frank wrung his hand as he said, "Mr. Schuyler, from my very soul I pity
you."
"I rather think, sir, you'll have a call for your pity in another
direction," pointing compassionately toward me; "mine eyes have not been
so blinded by my own misery, that I have not seen how your wife
suffered."
Frank shook with emotion as he hastily bolted the door, and took a seat
near me. I had covered my face with my hands, and was trying to force
myself to be calm.
"Cora," said he, in a voice which trembled in spite of himself, "won't
you look at me? Oh, Cora, you used to love me!"
"Dear, _dear_ Frank," I said, throwing my arms around his neck, "I love
you now. I have always loved you."
He pressed me silently to his heart. "Cora," he asked, turning my face
where he could look into my eyes, "tell me truly, do you not love Joseph
Morgan?"
O, what a world of light that one question let into my soul! I sprang
joyfully to my feet, and looking him fully in the face, "My dear
husband," I answered, "as I love, honor and fear my Maker, I have not,
and never have had one thought or feeling toward him unfaithful to you
as my wedded companion, nor has he ever given me reason to suspect that
he felt toward me otherwise than as he would feel toward a dear sister,
or cousin. Oh, Frank! how could I, when I loved you so dearly?" I could
endure it no longer, but burst into tears.
"Then, may God forgive me," murmured he with a convulsive sob. "But I
can never forgive myself."
It was a long time before I was composed enough to hear him explain; and
he had hardly entered upon the subject, when he was seized with
giddiness, and in attempting to reach the table for some water, was
obliged to catch hold of the bed post to save himself from falling. I
forgot everything else in my anxiety for him. I knew that he had been
dangerously ill with attacks of this kind in former years, and after
assisting him to reach the bed, I ran below for Aunt Morgan. She and
Joseph immediately went to him. When they approached the bed the Doctor
held out his hand to Joseph, while with the other he pressed his
throbbing brow. "Cousin," he said humbly, "I have wronged you, greatly
wronged you."
"In what?" asked Joseph in surprise.
"I have been led to believe that you and Cora loved each other; loved as
you ought not. Can you forgive me?"
The hoarse voice, and suppressed breathing showed cousin, that this was
no time for a joke, and he answered gravely, "truly and fully."
"Thank you," replied the Doctor in a whisper.
"Frank," I said, as his paleness every moment increased, "I shall send
for a physician, or can you prescribe for yourself?" He requested Joseph
to go across the street to the druggists and procure some medicine which
he named. He then said to aunt, "I used to have these turns long ago,
but have not for a year or two."
When cousin returned with the phial I administered the medicine
according to his direction, when he told aunt, if it would not be giving
too much trouble, he should like some strong mustard draughts for his
feet.
After half an hour, a fire had been made in the room, and the poultices
had begun to take effect. He felt his pulse, and asked me to administer
another dose of the medicine. Seeing that I looked very much troubled,
he said gently, "try, my love, to compose your feelings. It is true I am
very sick; but I tell you the truth when I say, there is probably no
danger, provided I keep perfectly free from excitement, and the medicine
operates favorably. I know exactly what to do."
I was turning away to hide my tears when he drew me down to him and
whispered, "say once more, dear Cora, that you forgive me!" It was
almost more than I could bear; but I choked back my sobs, and assured
him again and again of my love and entire forgiveness.
I had been moving quietly about the room preparing for the night, when
aunt came in, and said she or Joseph would watch with Frank. But I told
her nothing should induce me to leave him. This was said in a whisper,
but Frank heard it, and said, "let her stay. I am already relieved, and
shall need nothing. I shall rest far better if she is by my side."
Aunt put her hand on his head. "Doctor, you are very ill, I shall send
for a physician immediately. Your head is burning up, and fairly throbs
with violence."
Frank's face lit up almost into a smile, as he said, "It is easy to bear
that; the pain is all gone here," putting his hand to his heart.
"Dear husband," said I, "don't think of that now; only remember that I
am your own Cora, and try to go to sleep." Dear aunt had to take off her
glasses and wipe them twice before she could see; and she would not be
contented until she had brought him some hot herb tea, which he
consented to take, as it might hasten the operation of the medicine.