"O, women, men's subduers!
Nature's extremes, no mean is to be had,
Excellent good or infinitely bad." DAVENPORT.
"O, jealousy! thou merciless destroyer,
More cruel than the grave! what ravages
Does thy wild war make in the noblest bosoms!" MALLET.
_Saturday, October 24th._
By half past eleven on the evening of this attack, Frank was so much
relieved, that I felt it safe to go to bed, and slept sweetly for the
first time for more than a week. The next morning he pronounced the
difficulty entirely removed, but confessed that the powerful medicine,
he had taken, made him very weak. I carried him some breakfast to the
bed, after which I took my work and sat by his side. I would not allow
him to talk, and was only too happy in the thought that all the coldness
and reserve which had caused each of us so much unhappiness had passed,
and now only appeared like a troubled dream. My heart was buoyant with
hope and happiness, and as I ever and anon looked up from my work and
met the eye of my husband fixed upon me with its former look of love, I
felt that my Heavenly Father had answered my prayers, and restored unto
me the heart, I feared, was estranged from me forever.
Aunt came up and sat down on the foot of the bed. After Frank had
assured her that all the danger had passed, and that, with the exception
of being weak, he was as well as ever, she began to say something of
Fidelia. I had taken my breakfast late, and had not seen her since we
parted at the dinner table yesterday. Now I thought I recognized her
step in the entry, and looked with dread at the door. Aunt perceived my
agitation and asked me what was the matter.
"I can't see Fidelia," I almost screamed, as I heard the latch move.
Aunt stepped to the door and locked it, while Frank said, "There is more
in this than I thought. There must have been some underhand work here."
He stopped suddenly at a quick look from aunt.
"You will probably not see her again," she said gravely, "she has
returned home."
"Would to God, she had never left it!" murmured Frank.
"When did she go?" I asked joyfully.
"About an hour since," was her reply. It was hard for me to conceal my
joy at her unexpected departure.
About noon Frank arose and went below. Uncle and Joseph were very glad
to see him; and when my husband sat down by me and put his arm about me,
uncle said, "that is as husband and wife should be." He was obliged to
get up and go to the window to wipe his glasses, before he could go on
with his reading.
Joseph did not let the Doctor off quite so easily. "Cousin Frank," said
he familiarly, "I've found out that if I don't want to be jealous of my
wife, I must be so attentive to her as to exclude all others. Now if you
had appeared like that all the time, why you see"--he hesitated--"I
should have lost all the fun."
We all laughed at his comical manner, though I saw that Frank felt it
keenly. "We'll talk of that by and by," he said gravely.
"Excuse me," resumed Joseph, "I really didn't mean anything, 'twas only
a foolish way I have of turning everything into a joke."
"Yes, my son, you're very foolish," said aunt's voice; but her eyes
told a different story as she looked over her glasses with the most
tender affection upon her only child.
"By the way," continued the young man, coming and occupying a seat on
the sofa near me, "have you plead my cause yet, Cora?"
"What cause?"
"Why in regard to the fair hand of your daughter Pauline." He then
begged the Doctor's consent, saying, "if it will make any essential
difference in the case, I will get on my knees before you; but if you
could excuse it, as my pants are new, I shall be under the greater
obligation."
Uncle and aunt laughed till they cried as he went on in the most
ludicrous manner possible; sometimes standing before the mirror prinking
and talking to his own image; and then practising "courting" upon his
mother. Entirely forgetful of the newness of his pants he knelt before
her, and in heart-rending tones besought her to be gracious to his suit;
and when she nodded assent to his wishes, rapturously kissed her hands.
Then with a low bow to the company, while brushing his fingers through
his hair, he said in the gravest tone, "I find it necessary, ladies and
gentlemen, to practise occasionally. There is nothing in this business
like keeping one's hand in. Practice makes perfect."
After dinner, Frank told uncle he was desirous of seeing the family
together at some convenient time, and uncle replied that he would
arrange his business so that he could spend the evening at home.
Frank had told me before, that he wished to explain some things in his
conduct, and thought he ought to do so before the family, as they had
witnessed what had passed. During the afternoon he was so tender and
devoted to me that I more than half determined to tell him all Fidelia's
story to me, and have it settled at once, but before I had really
decided, we had taken tea, and having attended prayers were all seated
around the social hearth waiting for Frank to say what he wished. He
commenced with the remark, it was extremely painful to him to be obliged
to say anything unfavorable to the character of another; but, he
continued, "in order to explain, I do not say extenuate, my conduct
toward my wife, I must inform you that on the very first evening of my
arrival, Fidelia succeeded in planting a thorn in my heart, and from
that time until yesterday, she never ceased to suggest or hint at, ideas
which made me fear that the affection of my wife for me, if not her very
virtue, was endangered by her intimacy with her cousin."
Joseph started upon his feet, and I covered my face; but Frank said,
"sit down, Joseph; you can well afford to hear; your conscience is at
rest, while mine"--he stopped, he had evidently schooled himself for the
interview. "After this," he continued, "it was astonishing how many
trivial events occurred which appeared at the time to corroborate her
story; and she failed not to make use of them. For instance, I saw you,
cousin, take Cora's hand in what to my inflamed imagination seemed too
familiar a manner; at another time I heard you say, you should wish a
wife in all respects like her, and various other things which I should
not condescend to name, were it not to show you that with her
whisperings and hints, these had grown to such a magnitude in my mind,
that I was prepared to believe anything."
Joseph interrupted him and began to make some explanations, but Frank
would not allow a word to be said. "My dear cousin," he continued, "I
know you will not insult me by offering an explanation for what existed
only in my heated imagination, and which now that I have recovered my
reason, I loathe myself for indulging. I thought it over in the night,
and was astonished at my blindness; for you both were so perfectly open
in your conduct, I do not at all wonder that my little Cora feared me as
she did."
"Ah," said I, determining bravely to tell my story, "there is another
side to that." They all looked at me in amazement, as I began at the
beginning and related all I had felt and suffered. I confessed all my
hard feelings toward Frank, and all my jealousy of Fidelia. It was now
the Doctor's turn to start up in awful indignation. I told him how I had
been led as in his case, to see everything through a false medium, and I
had feared that the affection, she told me they had formerly felt for
each other, had revived to such a degree as to make him regret that the
marriage of both prevented their union.
The intensity of Joseph's feelings kept him silent. "Well," said uncle,
at length, "Fidelia is rightly punished for her fiendish plot in trying
to alienate your affections from each other."
"How?" I eagerly inquired.
He turned to aunt, who said, "I thought it best at the time to say
nothing about it. I merely told them she was gone."
Uncle resumed his seat, and sitting very erect in his chair, said, "Mr.
Schuyler went out soon after you were taken sick, and has not yet
returned. His wife insisted that we should take no pains to bring him
back. She said she wasn't going to have him think, she would run after
him. But I could see, as hour after hour passed away, she grew anxious
and impatient for his return. This morning, when we were seated at
breakfast, a boy brought a note from him directed to me, in which he
said that before that letter reached us he should be on his way to
Germany, where he intended to pass the rest of his life. He enclosed
fifty dollars for his wife, which he said was all she should ever have
from him, and closed by saying it was her own fault that she had not a
happy home and a devoted husband; and that if she had been willing to
accede to his wishes, she would at least have been the owner of a
handsome estate. That was true," added uncle, "he wished to buy a
beautiful place on the Hudson which he offered to settle upon her, but
she would not consent to live in so retired a situation. I used all my
influence with her to no purpose."
"Where is she now?" I asked.
"When she received the note, or rather when I read it to her, and gave
her the money, she was at first very angry, and thought he only wrote it
to frighten her; but I soon convinced her that I thought otherwise,
when she suddenly started for New York, where they had been boarding
since their marriage, in the hope of detaining him."
Frank looked very thoughtful, but said nothing; and we all sat for a few
moments thinking of the probabilities of her overtaking him, and of her
success in obtaining his forgiveness. I who knew more of his feelings
than any one present, doubted it, but I wisely concluded to keep my
knowledge to myself.
At length Joseph jumped up, saying, "I should think we were in a Quaker
meeting; let's play 'button, button, who's got the button?'"
"Wouldn't it be more pleasant," asked Frank, smiling, "to have Cora give
you an account of a Quaker wedding we attended on our way here?"
"Yes, _yes_, that's just the thing; come let's act it out! Here, Cora,
take my arm, tell me what to say, and I'll repeat it off just like a
book. I believe they always kiss their lady first, don't they? Come, why
don't you stand up and begin. It's placing a bashful young fellow, like
me, in a very embarrassing situation, when his wife that is to be won't
stand with him at the altar."
Though I could not help laughing, yet I would not consent to "act it
out," as he said, unless Frank would officiate as bridegroom, but as
uncle and aunt both joined in the request to see the ceremony, I
persuaded my husband to gratify them. When we were through, Joseph said,
we were so solemn about it, he felt just as thirsty as if he had been to
a real wedding, and asked if there were not some wine in the house. Aunt
shook her head, but he went out and soon brought in a waiter of wine
glasses, filled however, with lemonade, after which the conversation
passed naturally to other themes.
The remainder of the week passed delightfully; I gained every day in
health; and the Doctor took me with him to many places of interest in
the vicinity. Fidelia's name had not been mentioned in the week which
had intervened since her departure, except in one remark Frank made to
me on the Monday evening previous. He said, "You probably noticed that I
gave no explanation of many of her statements; and though I deny ever
having felt any affection for her, such as she describes, and hardly
what the relationship warranted, yet I wish to defer any farther
conversation upon the subject until we arrive home."
I told him, I should be glad to do so, but that I wanted him to promise
me one thing; I was proceeding to tell him what, when he said "Anything,
_everything_; I have the most entire confidence in you, my love." So we
promised each other, that the past should only be remembered as a
warning; we felt that our only security for happiness in the married
relation was, next to our God, in entire confidence in each other, and
we resolved never to lie down at night with one unkind thought treasured
up, which each had not given the other an opportunity to explain.
On the day before we left aunt Morgan, a letter was received from Mrs.
Schuyler, in which she said, she found on her arrival in New York city,
that her husband had indeed taken passage for Europe, and that on the
whole she considered it the most fortunate thing which could have
happened for her, as his jealous disposition had always prevented her
having any enjoyment. In a postscript she added, that she had been
invited to go to the South and pass the winter with some delightful
acquaintances, she had formed, and that she anticipated great pleasure
in their society. She said, she now considered herself in every respect
as a widow, and hoped her friends would never mortify her by any
allusion to the man, she had called her husband. In a second postscript
she requested that her trunks should be sent to the care of William
Arnold, Esq.
When aunt had finished reading, Frank and I exchanged glances. That was
the name of Lucy Lee's suitor, and we knew too much of him to expect she
would profit much by his society.
We left our dear friends early on Tuesday morning, having obtained a
promise from Joseph to make us an early visit. A day or two after we
reached home, I noticed Frank in earnest conversation with mother; after
which he requested me to go to her in the library. I went reluctantly,
for indeed I was now so happy, I cared for no farther explanation. But
as I saw Frank attributed my unwillingness to a wrong cause, I took
Emily's arm and went at once to the library, where mother gave me the
following account.
Fidelia Lenox was left an orphan at the age of fifteen, and was
immediately received into her uncle's family, and treated in all
respects as their own child. She was one year younger than Frank, and of
course they were constantly in each other's society. But it was not long
before mother perceived that from being willing and apparently pleased
to be with his cousin, Frank avoided her as much as possible, and often
refused positively to accompany her to parties of young people. Mother
did not at first pay much attention to the circumstance until her son's
conduct became so marked as to require a reproof, especially as she
could perceive nothing in the deportment of her niece to elicit such
dislike. She therefore appealed to him as a gentleman that it was in the
highest degree impolite and unkind to treat his cousin otherwise than he
would treat a sister.
For a long time Frank refused to give any explanation of his conduct;
but at length told his mother that he would agree to treat her as a
sister, if she would be content with that.
"What can she ask more?" inquired mother, in surprise.
Frank, like any boy of sixteen, blushed crimson, as he replied,
impulsively: "She is altogether too sentimental for me. She can talk
about nothing but love, and such nonsense. When the time comes for me to
be married, I mean to do the courting myself."
Mother was silent, from amazement, and tried to recall a single
circumstance to corroborate his statement. "I hardly know how to believe
it of Fidelia," she at length replied.
"Mother," said Frank "if you do not believe me, enter suddenly and
unexpectedly into the library or anywhere we may chance to be left alone
a moment, and you will see enough."
"What?" she asked, under her breath.
"Why, she runs her fingers through my hair, and she sits by me and looks
up in my face in a fawning manner. Bah!" he continued, "it's too
disgusting. If she hears the least sound, she darts back to her seat,
and there she sits as demure and proper as any old maid. I often wish,"
he added, half laughing, "she'd get caught at some of her fooleries."
After this, mother kept a strict surveillance of the conduct of her
niece, and soon became convinced that she was a dangerous companion for
her son, especially as she paid not the slightest regard to truth. She
therefore sent her away to a family-school, where she was under the
constant watch of her teacher. But she could not prevent Frank meeting
her occasionally, as they both spent their holidays at home; and she
confessed to me that she should have shuddered for the virtue of her
son, had he not exhibited such a loathing for the character of his
cousin. The time came when she must leave school, and her conduct had
become so reprehensible that mother would not consent that Emily should
be under her influence; and she has resided, until her marriage, with a
distant relative in the State of New York.
It was thus that Frank had not met her for several years, and as they
were both married, he had been willing to forget the past, and treat her
at least with kindness. But having had reason to know her want of
principle, he feels he had no excuse for giving heed to her cruel hints
and falsehoods. We have tacitly agreed to let her name be forgotten, and
I devoutly hope I shall never have occasion to remember it.
_Tuesday, October 27th._
My dear, _dear_ mother, now that I have told you all the sorrows, trials
and follies of the past month, I will turn to other and far more
pleasing themes. My dear little Pauline was almost wild with joy to see
papa and mamma at home again. I found her looking very chubby and rosy,
having gained in strength since the cool weather.
This season is perfectly charming. It is called the Indian summer. I can
give you no just description of the gorgeousness of the forest trees
with which we are surrounded. As I was riding through a thick grove
yesterday, on my way to Waverley, I could almost imagine myself in fairy
land. The air was mild and balmy as in June, and there was a freshness
and dryness in the atmosphere which was perfectly exhilarating.
I think I remarked to you near the commencement of my journal, that Mrs.
Munroe, the wife of our clergyman, was absent from town. She returned
while we were away. I called there yesterday, in company with Emily and
Pauline. Mrs. Munroe is rather above the medium height, with a very
intelligent, not handsome, countenance; and a splendid set of teeth. She
impressed me as a very superior lady; there is a dignity, a quiet repose
in her manner which I admire.
After conversing a few moments, I expressed a wish to see her infant;
when she immediately went out and brought it to the parlor, accompanied
by a sister who is visiting her. I don't think Pauline ever saw a baby
before, and she looked at the little creature with a serious, thoughtful
expression, frequently sighing from the intensity of her feelings. We
all joined in a laugh at her expense. But when the baby began to cry,
poor Pauline started, and grew very red. I didn't like to have her feel
so, and I took the infant into my lap, and put its little soft hand in
hers. When she had felt the velvety flesh, and came to the conclusion
that it was really alive, she was pleased enough; and had to make a
great effort to keep from crying that I did not bring it home with me.
I made early inquiries on my return as to the present situation of
Squire Lee's family; and was happy to learn that in many respects Lucy's
situation is far more comfortable than formerly. Her father still
continues feeble in body and mind, but he has grown so dependent on his
daughter, and is so pleased with her tender care, that he can hardly
bear her out of his sight. She reads newspapers to him, combs his hair,
and soothes him by the hour together. She hopes soon to interest him in
the Bible, by reading daily, delightful selections from it. I fear the
poor old gentleman has not enough sense to understand, as he often falls
asleep in his chair, lulled by the sound of her sweet voice.
Joseph Lee has taken up his residence in the city, only returning
occasionally to obtain his father's signature to a check. He swears that
the house is just like a tomb ever since the "old fellow" was taken
sick. As he has the last will safe in his possession, he gives himself
no concern about Lucy.
A few mornings after my return I requested Ann to build a fire in my
room, while I gave Pauline her morning bath; when she brought up a great
quantity of brush which would light quickly. The sight of this reminded
me of the children, Anna and Willie. I am ashamed to say, that with so
many other subjects to occupy my thoughts my _protegés_ had passed
entirely out of my mind. I inquired concerning them of mother, and
learned that they had made great advances in Phebe's good graces, by
having completely filled the wood shed with the brush, which Cæsar had
chopped early in the season, and had left in the orchard to dry. They
had come regularly day after day, had taken their dinner at the house,
and returned at night carrying a basket of food, or some useful article
to their mother.
Frank and I are more delighted than we can express with the change in
Emily. To be sure, she never has such high spirits as formerly; but she
is cheerful and affectionate to mother and all of us.
When I recall to mind the sad forebodings, I had while in B----,
thinking my happiness had gone forever, and then realize what a united,
happy family we are, my heart is ready to burst with gratitude.
Our
"Home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polished friends
And dear relations mingle into bliss."
_Saturday, October 31st._
Now that Frank knows my whole heart, I hope he will cease from
self-accusation for what passed at B----. I was sitting at my desk
writing when he came in. I looked up with a smile; but he only made a
faint attempt to return it. I instantly shut my desk, and went unbidden
to sit upon his knee. He put his arm about me, but did not speak. To
divert his thoughts, I asked him about his patients.
"Cora, my dear wife," said he interrupting me, "I would give all I
possess," ('including _me_,' I whispered,) "if you could open your heart
to me as you do to your mother in that journal."
"Why, Frank, I will tell you all you would like to know. I can't think
of anything I wish to conceal from you."
"Isn't there," he asked in an agitated voice, and hiding his face behind
me, "Isn't there, away down at the bottom of your heart a feeling, which
if brought out to the light, would read, 'I think I have been cruelly
insulted by my husband, and I can never love and respect him as I once
did?'"
"Frank," I exclaimed, starting to my feet, "let me feel your pulse. I
will order draughts for your feet. You surely have had a return of your
giddiness, or you would not insult your wife by such suspicions. When
you are sufficiently recovered to bear it, you shall take the said
journal of which you are so jealous, and retiring to the privacy of the
library, you shall then and there learn all that your wife thinks of
you."
"Dearest," he replied, "you will do me the greatest favor by allowing me
to peruse that part of it relating to ----." I put my hand to his mouth,
which he held there. Then I went to my desk, and separating the sheets
containing the account of our visit to B----, I put them into his hand.
When he had left the room, I could not help smiling at the look with
which he took the papers. It was something like that of a boy who
anticipates a pretty severe whipping. I began to feel sorry, I had
written so much about jealousy, and feared he would think that I
attached more importance to it than I do; for indeed I love my husband,
if possible, better than ever.
It was four or five hours before I saw him again, and I started to go to
him, when I heard Cæsar knock repeatedly at the library door without
receiving an answer. I therefore waited with great impatience. At length
my husband came to my room, where Pauline was playing about the floor,
and I knew by his looks, he had been much agitated. I sprang to meet
him, when he clasped me in his arms, saying, "Dearest and best of wives,
tell me again, that you forgive me. How very inhuman I have been!"
"Are you sorry you read it," I asked?
"No, _no_!" he replied eagerly, "I thank you more than I can express."
"Well, then, will you promise never to think of it more?"
"Yes, except as a powerful motive to be a better, and kinder husband to
the most affectionate and forgiving of wives." He added, "I have prayed,
with the record of your sufferings before me, for pardon and strength
for the future."
"Dear Frank, did you pray for me too?"
"Yes, love, I prayed that we might be spared many years; and that each
year we might be increasingly happy in each other, and useful to our
fellow creatures." Then lowering his voice to a whisper, he added, "I
prayed too for one who endeavored to injure us, that she might find
space for repentance."