Six years from the day Jessie Loring laid her bleeding heart on the
marriage altar had passed. For over three years of that time she had
not stepped beyond the threshold of her aunt's dwelling, and only at
rare intervals was she seen by visitors. She had not led an idle
life, however; else would her days long ere this have been numbered.
To her aunt and cousins she had, from the day of her return, devoted
herself, in all things wherein she could aid, counsel, minister, or
sustain; and that with so much of patient cheerfulness, and loving
self-devotion, that she had become endeared to them beyond any
former attachment. There was an odor of goodness about her life that
made her presence an incentive to right action.
Long before this period, Mrs. Loring had ceased all efforts to lead
Jessie out of her self-imposed seclusion.
"Not yet, dear aunt! Not yet," was the invariable answer.
The day on which she received formal notice that her husband had
applied for a divorce, she shut herself up in her room, and did not
leave it, nor hold communion with any one, until the next morning.
Then, with the exception of a wearied look, as if she had not slept
well, and a shade of sadness about her lips, no change was
discernible. When the decree, annulling the marriage between her and
Dexter, was placed in her hands, she seemed bewildered for a time,
as if she found it almost impossible to realize her new position.
"I congratulate you, Jessie Loring!" said her aunt, speaking from
her external view of the case. "You are free again. Free as the
wind!"
"This does not place me where I was," Jessie replied.
"Why not? The law has cancelled your marriage!" said Mrs. Loring.
"You stand in your old relation to the world."
"But not to myself," Jessie answered with a deep sigh; and leaving
her aunt, she went away to her little chamber, there to sit in
solemn debate over this new aspect of affairs in her troubled life.
No--no. She did not stand in her old relation to herself. She was
not a maiden with lips free from the guile of a false marriage
promise; but a divorced wife. A thing questionably recognized, both
in human opinion and divine law. Deeply and solemnly did this
conviction weigh upon her thoughts. View the case in any of the
lights which shone into her mind, she could not discover an aspect
that gave her real comfort. It is true she was free from all legal
obligations to her former husband, and that was something gained.
But what of that husband's position under the literal reading of the
divine law? No doubt he contemplated marriage. But could he marry,
conscience clear? Had not her false vows cursed both their
lives?--imposed on each almost impossible necessities?
Such were the questions that thrust themselves upon her, and
clamored for solution.
She had not solved them when the intelligence came of Mr. Dexter's
marriage in England.
"I have news that will surprise you," said Mrs. Loring, coming into
the sitting-room where Jessie was at work on a piece of embroidery.
"What is it?" she asked, looking up almost with a start, for
something in her aunt's manner told her that she had a personal
interest in the news.
"Mr. Dexter is married!"
Instantly a pallor overspread Jessie's face.
"Married to an English lady," said Mrs. Loring.
Jessie looked at her aunt for a little while, but without a remark.
She then turned her eyes again upon her embroidery, lifting it close
to her face. But her hand trembled so that she could not take a
stitch.
"I hope he's satisfied now," said Mrs. Loring. "He's married an
heiress--so the story goes; and is going to reside with her in
England. I'm glad of that any how. It might not be so pleasant for
you to meet them--sensitive thing that you are! But it wouldn't
trouble _me_. _I_ could look them both in the face and not blink.
Much joy may he have with his English bride! Bless me, child, how
you do tremble!" she added, as she noticed the fingers of her niece
trying in vain to direct the needle she held upon the face of the
embroidery. "It's nothing more than you had to expect. And, besides,
what is Leon Dexter to you now? Only as another man?"
Jessie arose without speaking, and kissing her aunt in token of
love, passed quickly from the room.
"Dear! dear! what a strange child it is!" said Aunt Loring, as she
wiped off a tear which had fallen from Jessie's eyes upon her cheek.
"Just like her mother for all the world in some things"--the last
part of the sentence was in a qualifying tone--"though," she went
on, "her mother hadn't anything like her trials to endure. Oh, that
Dexter! if I only had my will of him!"
And Aunt Loring, in her rising indignation, actually clenched her
hand and shook it in the air.
"It has come to this at last," said Jessie as soon as she had gained
the sanctuary of her little chamber, where she could think without
interruption. "And I knew it must come; but oh, how I have dreaded
the event! Is he innocent in the sight of heaven? Ah, if I could
only have that question answered in the affirmative, a crushing
weight would be lifted from my soul. If he is not innocent, the
stain of his guilt rests upon my garments! He is not alone
responsible. Who can tell the consequences of a single false step in
life?"
From a small hanging shelf she took a Bible, and opening to a marked
page, read over three or four verses with earnest attention.
"I can see no other meaning," she said with a painful sigh, closing
the book and restoring it to its place on the shelf. It was all in
vain that Jessie Loring sought for light and comfort in this
direction. They were not found. When she joined her aunt, some hours
afterwards, her face had not regained its former placidity.
"Well, dear," said Mrs. Loring, speaking in what sounded to the ear
of her niece a light tone, "have you got it all right with
yourself?"
Jessie smiled faintly, and merely answered--
"It will take time. But I trust that all will come out truly
adjusted in the end."
She had never ventured to bring to her aunt's very external judgment
the real questions that troubled her. Mrs. Loring's prompt way of
sweeping aside these cobwebs of the brain, as she called the finer
scruples of conscience, could not satisfy her yearning desire for
light.
"Yes; time works wonders. He is the great restorer. But why not see
clearly at once; and not wait in suffering for time's slow
movements? I am a wiser philosopher than you are, Jessie; and try to
gain from the present all that it has to give."
"Some hearts require a severer discipline than others," said Jessie.
"And mine, I think, is one of them."
"All that is sickly sentiment, my dear child! as I have said to you
a hundred times. It is not shadow, but sunshine that your heart
wants--not discipline, but consolation--not doubt, but hope. You are
as untrue to yourself as the old anchorites. These self-inflicted
stripes are horrible to think of, for the pain is not salutary, but
only increases the morbid states of mind that ever demand new
flagellations."
"We are differently made, Aunt Phoebe," was the quiet answer.
"No, we are not, but we make ourselves different," replied Mrs.
Loring a little hastily.
"The world would be a very dead-level affair, if we were all made
alike," said Jessie, forcing a smile, and assuming a lighter air, in
order to lead her aunt's mind away from the thought of her as too
painfully disturbed by the announcement of Mr. Dexter's marriage.
And she was successful. The subject was changed to one of a less
embarrassing character. And this was all of the inner life of Jessie
Loring that showed itself on the surface.