IT was past the hour of two, when Jessie Loring stepped from the
carriage and entered her home. A domestic admitted her.
"Aunt is not waiting for me?" she said in a tone of inquiry.
"No; she has been in bed some hours."
"It is late for you to be sitting up, Mary, and I am sorry to have
been the cause of it. But, you know, I couldn't leave earlier."
She spoke kindly, and the servant answered in a cheerful voice.
"I'll sit up for you, Miss Jessie, at any time. And why shouldn't I?
Sure, no one in the house is kinder or more considerate of us than
you; and it's quite as little as a body can do to wait up for you
once in a while, and you enjoying yourself."
"Thank you, Mary. And now get to bed as quickly as possible, for you
must be tired and very sleepy. Good-night."
"Good night, and God bless you!" responded the servant, warmly. "She
was the queen there, I know?" she added, proudly, speaking to
herself as she moved away.
It was a night in mid-October. A clear, cool, moon-lit radiant
night. From her window, Jessie could look far away over the
housetops to a dark mass of forest trees, just beyond the city, and
to the gleaming river that lay sleeping at their feet. The sky was
cloudless, save at the west, where a tall, craggy mountain of vapor
towered up to the very zenith. After loosening and laying off some
of her garments, Miss Loring, instead of retiring, sat down
by the window, and leaning her head upon her hand looked out upon
the entrancing scene. She did not remark upon its beauty, nor think
of its weird attractions; nor did her eyes, after the first glance,
convey any distinct image of external objects to her mind. Yet was
she affected by them. The hour, and the aspect of nature wrought
their own work upon her feelings.
She sat down and leaned her head upon her hand, while the scenes in
which she had been for the past few hours an actor, passed before
her in review with almost the vividness of reality. Were her
thoughts pleasant ones? We fear not; for every now and then a faint
sigh troubled her breast, and parted her too firmly closed lips. The
evening's entertainment had not satisfied her in something. There
was a pressure on her feelings that weighed them down heavily.
"There is more in one sentence of his than in a a page of the
other's wordy utterances." Her lips moved in the earnestness of her
inward-spoken thoughts. "How annoyed I was to be dragged from his
side by Mr. Dexter just as I had begun to feel a little at my ease,
and just as my voice had gained something of its true expression. It
is strange how his presence disturbs me; and how my eyes fall
beneath his gaze! He seems very cold and very distant; and proud I
should think. Proud! Ah! has he not cause for pride? I have not
looked upon his peer to-night. How that man did persecute me with
his attentions! He monopolized me wholly! Perhaps I should be
flattered by his attentions--and, perhaps, I was. I know that I was
envied. Ah, me! what a pressure there is on my heart! From the
moment I first looked into the face of Paul Hendrickson, I have been
an enigma to myself. Some great change is wrought in me--some new
capacities opened--some deeper yearnings quickened into life. I am
still Jessie Loring, though not the Jessie Loring of yesterday. Have
I completed a cycle of being? Am I entering upon another and higher
sphere of existence? How the questions bewilder me! Clouds and
darkness seem gathering around me, and my heart springs upward, half
in fear, and half in hope!"
An hour later, and Miss Loring still sat by the closed window, her
eyes upon the gleaming river and sombre woods beyond, yet seeing
them not. The tall mountain of vapor, which had arisen like a
pyramid of white marble, no longer retained its clear, bold outline,
but, yielding to aerial currents, had been rent from base to crown,
and now its scattered fragments lay in wild confusion along the
whole sweep of the western horizon. Down into these shapeless ruins
the moon had plunged, and her pure light was struggling to penetrate
their rifts, and pour its blessing upon the slumbering earth.
A rush of wind startled the maiden from her deep abstraction, and,
as it went moaning away among the eaves and angles of the
surrounding tenements, she arose, and putting off her garments, went
sighing to bed. Dreams visited her in sleep, and in every dream she
was in the presence of Paul Hendrickson. Very pleasant were they,
for in the sweet visions that came to her, Paul was by her side, his
voice filling her ears and echoing in her heart like tones of
delicious music. They walked through fragrant meadows, by the side
of glittering streams, and amid groves with singing birds on all the
blossomy branches. How tenderly he spoke to her!--how reverently he
touched with his manly lips her soft white hand, sending such
electric thrills of joy to her heart as waking maidens rarely know!
But, suddenly, after a long season of blessed intercourse, a stern
voice shocked her ears, and a heavy hand grasped roughly her arm.
She turned in fear, and Leon Dexter stood before her, a dark frown
upon his countenance. With a cry of terror she awoke.
Day had already come, but no bright sun shone down upon the earth,
for leaden clouds were in the sky, and nature was bathed in tears.
It was some time before the agitation that accompanied Miss Loring's
sudden awakening, had sufficiently subsided to leave her mind
composed enough to arise and join the family. When she did so, she
found her aunt, Mrs. Loring and her cousins Amanda and Dora, two not
over refined school girls, aged fourteen and sixteen, awaiting her
appearance.
"You are late this morning, Jessie," said Mrs. Loring. Then, before
her niece had time to reply, she spoke to her eldest daughter--"Amanda,
ring the bell, and order breakfast at once."
"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, aunt Phoebe," replied Jessie.
"I did not get to bed until very late, and slept too soundly for the
morning bell."
"You must have been as deeply buried in the arms of Morpheus as one
of the seven sleepers, not to have heard that bell! I thought Kitty
would never stop the intolerable din. The girl seems to have a
passion for bell-ringing. Her last place was, I fancy, a
boarding-house."
Mrs. Loring spoke with a slight shade of annoyance in her tones. Her
words and manner, it was plain from Jessie's countenance, were felt
as a rebuke. In a few moments the breakfast bell was heard, and the
family went down to the morning meal, which had been delayed full
half an hour beyond the usual time.
"Had you a pleasant time last evening?" inquired Mrs. Loring, after
they were seated at the table, and a taste of the fragrant coffee
and warm cakes had somewhat refreshed her body, and restored the
tranquillity of her feelings.
"Very," replied Jessie in an absent way.
"Who was there?"
"Oh! everybody. It was a very large company."
"Who in particular that I know?"
"Mrs. Compton and her daughter Agnes."
"Indeed! Was Agnes there?" said Mrs. Loring, in manifest surprise.
"Yes; and she looked beautiful."
"I didn't know that she had come out. Agnes must be very young--not
over seventeen. I am surprised at her mother! How did she behave
herself? Bold, forward and hoydenish enough, I suppose! I never
liked her."
"I did not observe any impropriety of conduct," said Jessie. "She
certainly was neither bold nor forward."
"Did she sing?"
"No."
"Probably no one asked her." Mrs. Loring was in a cynical mood.
"Yes; I heard her asked more than once to sing."
"And she refused?"
"Yes."
"Affectation! She wanted urging. She has had peculiar advantages,
and is said to possess fine musical ability. I have heard that she
is a splendid performer. No doubt she was dying to show off at the
piano."
"I think not," said Jessie, "for I heard her say to Mrs. Compton, in
an under tone, 'I can't, indeed, dear mother! The very thought of
playing before these people, makes my heart tremble. I can play very
well at home, when my mind is calm; but I should blunder in the
first bar here."
"Children should be left at home," said Mrs. Loring. "That is my
doctrine. This crowding of young girls into company, and crowding
out grown up people, is a great mistake; but, who else was there?
What gentlemen?"
"Mr. Florence."
Mrs. Loring curled her flexible lip.
"Mr. Dexter."
"Leon?"
"Yes."
The eyes of Jessie drooped as those of her aunt were directed in
close scrutiny to her face.
"He's a catch. Set your cap for him, Jessie, and you may ride in
your own carriage." There was a vulgar leer in Mrs. Loring's eye.
The color rose to Jessie's face, but she did not answer.
"Did he show you any attentions?" inquired the aunt.
"Yes. He was quite as attentive as I could desire."
"Indeed! And what does 'as you could desire,' mean?"
Jessie turned her face partly away to hide its crimson.
"Ah, well; I see how it is, dear. You needn't blush so. I only hope
you may get him. He was attentive, then, was he?"
"I have no reason to complain of his lack of attentions," said
Jessie, her voice cold and firm. "They would have been flattering to
most girls. But, I do not always give to compliments and 'company
manners,' the serious meanings that some attach to them."
"Jessie," Mrs. Loring spoke with sudden seriousness; "take my
advice, and encourage Leon Dexter. I am pleased to know that you
were so much an object of his attentions as your remarks lead me to
infer. I know that you will make him a good wife; one of whom he can
never be ashamed; and I know that a union with him will give you a
proud position."
"Will you waive the subject, at present, dear aunt?" said Jessie,
with a pleading look, at the same time glancing covertly towards her
cousins, who were drinking in every word with girlish eagerness.
"Oh, by all means," answered Mrs. Loring, "if it is in the least
annoying. I was forgetting myself in the interest felt for your
welfare."
"And so Mr. Dexter showed you marked attentions last evening?" said
Jessie's aunt, joining her in the sitting-room, after Amanda and
Dora had left for school.
"Did I say so, aunt?" inquired Jessie, looking into her relative's
face.
"You said enough to make the inference clear, my child."
"Well, Aunt Phoebe, he was attentive--more so, by a great deal, than
I desired!"
"Than you desired!" There was unfeigned surprise in the voice of
Mrs. Loring. "What do you mean, Jessie?"
"The man's position is all well enough; but the man himself is not
altogether to my liking."
"You must have grown remarkably fastidious all at once. Why, girl!
there isn't a handsomer man to be found anywhere. He is a noble
looking fellow! Where are your eyes?"
"The man that a wife has to deal with, is the man of the spirit,
Aunt Phoebe--the real man. The handsome outside is nothing, if the
inner man is not beautiful!" Jessie spoke with a sudden glow of
feeling.
"Stuff and nonsense, child!" said Mrs. Loring, impatiently. "Stuff
and nonsense!" she repeated, seeing that her niece looked steadily
into her face. "What do you know of the man of the spirit, as you
call it? And, moreover, what possesses you to infer that Mr.
Dexter's inner man is not as beautiful as the outer?"
"The soul looks forth from the eyes, and manifests its quality in
the tones of the voice," replied Jessie, a fine enthusiasm
illuminating her beautiful face. "No man can hide from us his real
character, unless we let self-love and self-interest draw an
obscuring veil."
"You are a strange girl, Jessie--a very strange girl!" Mrs. Loring
was fretted. "What can you mean? Here, a splendid fortune promises
to be poured into your lap, and you draw your garments aside,
hesitating and questioning as to whether the golden treasure is
worth receiving! I am half amazed at your conduct!"
"Are you weary of my presence here, Aunt Phoebe?" said Jessie, a
tremor in her low failing tones.
"Now give me patience with the foolish girl!" exclaimed Mrs. Loring,
assuming an angry aspect. "What has come over you, Jessie? Did I say
anything about being wearied with your presence? Because I manifest
an unusual degree of interest in your future welfare, am I to be
charged with a mean, selfish motive? I did not expect this of you."
"Dear aunt! forgive me!" said Jessie, giving way to tears. "My
feelings are unusually disturbed this morning. Late hours and the
excitement of company have made me nervous. As for Mr. Dexter, let
us pass him by for the present. He has not impressed me as favorably
as you seem to desire."
"But Jessie."
"Spare me, dear aunt! If you press the subject on me now, you will
only excite disgust where you hope to create a favorable impression.
I have had many opportunities of close observation, and failed not
to improve them. The result is--"
Jessie paused.
"What?" queried her aunt.
"That the more narrowly I scan him the less I like him. He is
superficial, vain and selfish."
"How do you know?"
"I cannot make manifest to your eyes the signs that were clear to
mine. But so I have read him."
"And read him with the page upside down, my, word for it, Miss
Jessie Loring!"
Jessie answered only with a sigh, and when her aunt still pressed
her on the subject, she begged to be spared, as she felt nervous and
excited. So, leaving the sitting room, she retired to her own
apartment, to gather up, and unravel, if possible, the tangled
thread of thought and feeling.