THE visit of Hendrickson was an hour too late, Dexter had already
been there, and pressed his suit to a formal issue. The bold suitor
had carried off the prize, while the timid one yet hesitated. Jessie
went back to her room, after her interview with Paul Hendrickson, in
spiritual stature no longer a half developed girl, but a full woman
grown. The girl's strength would no longer have sustained her. Only
the woman's soul, strong in principle and strong to endure, could
bear up now. And the woman's soul shuddered in the conflict of
passions that came like furies to destroy her--shuddered and bent,
and writhed like some strong forest-tree in the maddening whirl of a
tempest. But there was no faltering of purpose. She had passed her
word--had made a solemn life-compact, and, she resolved to die, but
not to waver.
The question as to whether she were right or wrong, it is not for us
here to decide. We but record the fact. Few women after such a
discovery would have ventured to move on a step farther. But Jessie
was not an ordinary woman. She possessed a high sense of personal
honor; and looked upon any pledge as a sacred obligation. Having
consented to become the wife of Leon Dexter, she saw but one right
course, and that was to perform, as best she could, her part of the
contract.
How envied she was! Many wondered that Dexter should have turned
aside for a portionless girl, when he might have led a jewelled
bride to the altar. But though superficial, he had taste and
discrimination enough to see that Jessie Loring was superior to all
the maidens whom it had been his fortune to meet. And so, without
pausing to look deeply into her heart, or take note of its peculiar
aspirations and impulses, he boldly pressed forward resolved to win.
And he did win; and in winning, thought, like many another foolish
man, that to win the loveliest, was to secure the highest happiness.
Fatal error! Doubly fatal!
It is impossible for any woman to pass through an ordeal like the
one that was testing the quality of Jessie Loring, and not show
signs of the inward strife. It is in no way surprising, therefore,
that, in her exterior, a marked change soon became visible. There
was a certain dignity and reserve, verging, at times, on coldness,
not seen prior to her engagement--and a quiet suppression of
familiarity, even with her most intimate friends. The same marked
change was visible in her intercourse with Mr. Dexter. She did not
meet him with that kind of repulsion which is equivalent to pushing
back with the hand. She accepted his loving ardor of speech and act;
but passively. There was no responsive warmth.
At first Mr. Dexter was puzzled, and his ardent feelings chilled. He
loved, admired, almost worshipped the beautiful girl from whom
consent had been extorted, and her quiet, cold manner, troubled his
sorely. Glimpses of the real truth dawned into his mind. He let his
thoughts go back, and went over again, in retrospection, every
particular of their intercourse--dwelling minutely upon her words,
looks, manner and emotions at the time he first pressed his suit
upon her. The result was far from satisfactory. She had not met his
advances as he had hoped; but rather fled from him--and he had
gained her only by pursuit. Her ascent had not come warmly from her
heart, but burdened with a sigh. Mr. Dexter felt that though she was
his, she had not been fairly won. The conviction troubled him.
"I will release her," he said, in a sudden glow of generous
enthusiasm. But Mr. Dexter had not the nobility for such a step. He
was too selfish a man to relinquish the prize.
"I will woo and win her still." This was to him a more satisfactory
conclusion. But he had won all of her in his power to gain. Her
heart was to him a sealed book. He could not unclasp the volume, nor
read a single page.
Earnestly at times did Jessie strive to appear attractive in the
eyes of her betrothed--to meet his ardor with returning warmth. But
the effort was accompanied with so much pain, that suffering was
unable to withdraw wholly beneath a veil of smiles.
The wordy, restless pleasure evinced by Mrs. Loring, was
particularly annoying to Jessie; so much so that any allusion by her
aunt to the approaching marriage, was almost certain to cloud her
brow. And yet so gratified was this worldly-minded woman, at the
good fortune of her niece in securing so brilliant an alliance,
that it seemed as if, for a time, she could talk of nothing else.
Mr. Dexter urged an early marriage, while Jessie named a period
nearly a year in advance; but, as she could give no valid reason for
delaying their happiness so long, the time was shortened to four
months. As the day approached, the pressure on the heart of Miss
Loring grew heavier.
"Oh, if I could die!" How many times in the silence of night and in
the loneliness of her chamber did her lips give forth this
utterance.
But the striving spirit could not lay down its burden thus.
Not once, since the exciting interview we have described, had Paul
and Jessie met. At places of fashionable amusement she was a
constant attendant in company with Dexter, who was proud of her
beauty. But though her eyes searched everywhere in the crowded
audiences, in no instance did she recognize the face of Hendrickson.
In festive companies, where he had been a constant attendant, she
missed his presence. Often she heard him inquired after, yet only
once did the answer convey any intelligence. It was at an evening
party. "Where is Mr. Hendrickson? It is a long time since I have
seen him," she heard a lady say. Partly turning she recognized Mrs.
Denison as the person addressed. The answer was in so low a tone
that her ear did not make it out, though she listened with suspended
breath.
"Ah! I'm sorry," responded the other. "What is the cause?"
"A matter of the heart, I believe," said Mrs. Denison.
"Indeed is he very much depressed?"
"He is changed," was the simple reply.
"Who was the lady?"
Jessie did not hear the answer.
"You don't tell me so!" In a tone of surprise, and the lady glanced
around the room.
"And he took it very much to heart?" she went on.
"Yes. I think it will change the complexion of his whole life," said
Mrs. Denison. "He is a man of deep feeling--somewhat peculiar; over
diffident; and not given to showing himself off to the best
advantage. But he is every inch a man--all gold and no tinsel! I
have known him from boyhood, and speak of his quality from certain
knowledge."
"He will get over it," remarked the lady. "Men are not apt to go
crazy after pretty girls. The market is full of such attractions."
"It takes more than a painted butterfly to dazzle him, my friend,"
said Mrs. Denison. "His eyes are too keen, and go below the surface
at a glance. The woman he loves may regard the fact as a high
testimonial."
"But you don't suppose he is going to break his heart over this
matter."
"No--oh, no! That is an extreme disaster."
"He will forget her in time; and there are good fish in the sea
yet."
"Time is the great restorer," said Mrs. Denison; "and time will
show, I trust, that good will come from this severe trial which my
young friend is now enduring. These better natures are oftenest
exposed to furnace heat, for only they have gold enough to stand the
ordeal of fire."
"He is wrong to shut himself out from society."
"So I tell him. But he says 'wait--wait, I am not strong enough
yet.'"
"He must, indeed, take the matter deeply to heart."
"He does."
Here the voice fell to such a low measure, that Jessie lost all
distinction of words. But the few sentences which had reached her
ears disturbed her spirit profoundly--too profoundly to make even a
ripple on the surface. No one saw a change on her countenance, and
her voice, answering a moment after to the voice of a friend,
betrayed no unusual sign of feeling.
And this was all she had heard of him for months.
Once, a little while before her marriage, she met him. It was a few
weeks after these brief unsatisfactory sentences had troubled the
waters of her spirit. She had been out with her aunt for the purpose
of selecting her wedding attire; and after a visit to the
dressmaker's, was returning alone, her aunt wishing to make a few
calls at places where Jessie did not care to go. She was crossing
one of the public squares when the thought of Hendrickson came
suddenly into her mind. Her eyes were cast down at the moment.
Looking up, involuntarily, she paused, for within a few paces was
the young man himself, approaching from the opposite direction. He
paused also, and they stood with eyes riveted upon each other's
faces--both, for a time, too much embarrassed to speak. Their hands
had mutually clasped, and Hendrickson was holding that of Jessie
tightly compressed within his own.
The first to regain self-possession was Miss Loring. With a quick
motion she withdrew her hand, and moved back a single step. The
mantling flush left her brow, and the startled eyes looked calmly
into the young man's face.
"Have you been away from the city, Mr. Hendrickson?" she inquired,
in a voice that gave but few signs of feeling.
"No." He could not trust himself to utter more than a single word.
"I have missed you from the old places," she said.
"Have you? It is something, even to be missed?" He could not
suppress the tremor in his voice.
"Good morning!"
Jessie almost sprang past him, and hurried away. The tempter was at
her side; and she felt it to be an hour of weakness. She must either
yield or fly--and she fled; fled with rapid unsteady feet, pausing
not until the door of her own chamber shut out all the world and
left her alone with Heaven. Weak, trembling, exhausted she bowed
herself, and in anguish of spirit prayed--
"Oh, my Father, sustain me! Give me light, strength, patience,
endurance. I am walking darkly, and the way is rough and steep. Let
me not fall. The floods roar about me--let me not sink beneath them.
My heart is failing under its heavy burden. Oh, bear me up! The sky
is black--show me some rift in the clouds, for I am fainting in this
rayless night. And oh, if I dare pray for _him_--if the desire for
his happiness springs from no wrong sentiment--let this petition
find favor--as he asked that I might be kept spotless as the angels,
so keep him; and after he has passed through the furnace, let not
even the smell of fire be upon him. Send him a higher blessing than
that which he has lost. Oh Lord, give strength to both--especially
to her whose voice is now ascending, for she is weakest, and will
have most to endure."
For a long time after the murmur of prayer had died on her lips,
Jessie remained prostrate. When she arose at last, it was with a
slow, weary movement, dreary eyes, and absent manner. The shock of
this meeting had been severe--disturbing her too profoundly for even
the soothing influence of prayer. She did not arise from her knees
comforted--scarcely strengthened. A kind of benumbing stupor
followed.
"What ails the girl!" said Mrs. Loring to herself as she vainly
strove at dinner-time to draw her forth into lively conversation.
"She gets into the strangest states--just like her poor mother! And
like her I'm afraid, sometimes, will make herself and every one else
around her miserable. I pity Leon Dexter, if this be so. He may find
that his caged bird will not sing. Already the notes are few and far
between; and little of the old sweetness remains."