AND what of Paul Hendrickson during these years of isolation, in
which no intelligence could be gained of Jessie, beyond vague
rumors? For a time, he secluded himself. Then he returned to a few
of the old social circles, not much changed to the common eye. His
countenance was a little graver; his voice a little lower; his
manner a trifle more subdued. But he was a cheerful, intelligent
companion, and always a welcome guest.
To no one, not even to his old friend, Mrs. Denison, did he speak of
Mrs. Dexter. What right had he to speak of her? She was still the
lawful wife of another man, though separated from him by her own
act. But not to think of her was as impossible as not to think at
all--not to gaze upon her image as impossible as to extinguish the
inner vision. She was always by his side, in spirit; her voice
always in his ears; her dear face always before him. "The cup is
dashed to pieces at my feet, and the precious wine spilled!" How
many, many, many times, each day, did he hear these words uttered,
always in that sad, half-desponding voice that first brought them to
his ears; and they kept hope in the future alive.
The separation which had taken place Hendrickson regarded as one
step in the right direction. When the application for a divorce was
made, he hailed it with a degree of inward satisfaction that a
little startled himself. "It is another step in the right
direction," he said, on the instant's impulse.
Reflection a little sobered him. "Even if the divorce is granted,
what will be her views of the matter?"
There came no satisfactory answer to this query.
A thick curtain still veiled the future. Many doubts troubled him.
Next, in the order of events, came the decision by which the
marriage contract between Dexter and his wife was annulled. On the
evening of the same day on which the court granted the petitioner's
prayer, Hendrickson called upon Mrs. Denison. She saw the moment he
came in that he was excited about something.
"Have you heard the news?" he inquired.
"What news?" Mrs. Denison looked at him curiously.
"Leon Dexter has obtained a divorce."
"Has he?"
"Yes. And so that long agony is over! She is free again."
Hendrickson was not able to control the intense excitement he felt.
Mrs. Denison looked at him soberly and with glances of inquiry.
"You understand me, I suppose?"
"Perhaps I do, perhaps not," she answered.
"Mrs. Denison," said the young man, with increasing excitement, "I
need scarcely say to you that my heart has never swerved from its
first idolatry. To love Jessie Loring was an instinct of my
nature--therefore, to love her once was to love her forever. You
know how cruelly circumstances came with their impassable barriers.
They were only barriers, and destroyed nothing. As brightly as ever
burned the fires--as ardently as ever went forth love's strong
impulses with every heart-beat. And her heart remained true to mine
as ever was needle to the pole."
"That is a bold assertion, Paul," said Mrs. Denison, "and one that
it pains me to hear you make."
"It is true; but why does it give you pain?" he asked.
"Because it intimates the existence of an understanding between you
and Mrs. Dexter, and looks to the confirmation of rumors that I have
always considered as without a shadow of foundation."
"My name has never been mentioned in connection with hers."
"It has."
"Mrs. Denison!"
"It is true."
"I never heard it."
"Nor I but once."
"What was said?"
"That you were the individual against whom Mr. Dexter's jealousy was
excited, and that your clandestine meetings with his wife led to the
separation."
"I had believed," said Hendrickson, after a pause, and in a voice
that showed a depression of feeling, "that busy rumor had never
joined our names together. That it has done so, I deeply regret. No
voluntary action of mine led to this result; and it was my opinion
that Dexter had carefully avoided any mention of my name, even to
his most intimate friends."
"I only heard the story once, and then gave it my emphatic denial,"
said Mrs. Denison.
"And yet it was true, I believe, though in a qualified sense. We did
meet, not clandestinely, however, nor with design."
"But without a thought, much less a purpose of dishonor," said Mrs.
Denison, almost severely.
"Without even a thought of dishonor," replied Hendrickson. "Both
were incapable of that. She arrived at Newport when I was there. We
met, suddenly and unexpectedly, face to face, and when off our
guard. I read her heart, and she read mine, in lightning glimpses.
The pages were shut instantly, and not opened again. We met once or
twice after that, but as mere acquaintances, and I left on the day
after she came, because I saw that the discipline was too severe for
her, and that I was not only in an equivocal, but dangerous, if not
dishonorable position. Dexter had his eyes on me all the while, and
if I crossed his path suddenly he looked as if he would have
destroyed me with a glance. The fearful illness, which came so near
extinguishing the life of Mrs. Dexter, was, I have never doubted, in
consequence of that meeting and circumstances springing directly
therefrom. A friend of mine had a room adjoining theirs at Newport,
and he once said to me, without imagining my interest in the case,
that on the day before Mrs. Dexter's illness was known, he had heard
her voice pitched to a higher key than usual, and had caught a few
words that too clearly indicated a feeling of outrage for some
perpetrated wrong. There was stern defiance also, he said, in her
tones. He was pained at the circumstance, for he had met Mrs. Dexter
frequently, he said, at Newport, and was charmed with her fine
intelligence and womanly attractions.
"Once after that we looked into each other's faces, and only once.
And then, as before, we read the secret known only to ourselves--but
without design. I was passing her residence--it was the first time I
had permitted myself even to go into the neighborhood where she
lived, since her return from Newport. Now something drew me that
way, and yielding to the impulse, I took the street on which her
dwelling stood, and ere a thought of honor checked my footsteps, was
by her door. A single glance at one of the parlor windows gave me
the vision of her pale face, so attenuated by sickness and
suffering, that the sight filled me with instant pity, and fired my
soul with a deeper love. What my countenance expressed I do not
know. It must have betrayed my feelings, for I was off my guard. Her
face was as the page of a book suddenly opened. I read it without
losing the meaning of a word. There was a painful sequel to this.
The husband of Mrs. Dexter, as if he had started from the ground,
confronted me on the instant. Which way he came--whether he had
followed me, or advanced by an opposite direction, I know not. But
there he stood, and his flashing eyes read both of our unveiled
faces. The expression of his countenance was almost fiendish.
"I passed on, without pause or start. Nothing more than the
answering glances he had seen was betrayed. But the consequences
were final. It was on that day that Mrs. Dexter left her husband,
never again to hold with him any communication. I have scarcely
dared permit myself to imagine what transpired on that occasion. The
outrage on his part must have been extreme, or the desperate
alternative of abandonment would never have been taken by such a
woman.
"There, my good friend and aforetime counsellor," added Hendrickson,
"you have the unvarnished story. A stern necessity drew around each
of us bands of iron. Yet we have been true to ourselves--and that
means true to honor. But now the darker features of the case are
changed. She is no longer the wife of Leon Dexter. The law has
shattered every link of the accursed chain that held her in such a
loathsome bondage."
He paused, for the expression of Mrs. Denison's countenance was not
by any means satisfactory.
"Right, so far," said Mrs. Denison. "I cannot see that either was
guilty of wrong, or even, imprudence. But I am afraid, Paul, that
you are springing to conclusions with too bold a leap."
"Do not say that, Mrs. Denison."
He spoke quickly, and with a suddenly shadowed face.
"Your meaning is very plain," was answered. "It is this. A divorce
having been granted to the prayer of Mr. Dexter, his wife is now
free to marry again."
"Yes, that is my meaning," said Hendrickson, looking steadily into
the face of Mrs. Denison. She merely shook her head in a grave,
quiet way.
Hendrickson drew a long breath, then compressed his lips--but still
looked into the face of his friend.
"There are impediments yet in the way," said Mrs. Denison.
"I know what you think. The Divine law is superior to all human
enactments."
"Is it not so, Paul?"
"If I was certain as to the Divine law," said Hendrickson.
"The record is very explicit."
"Read in the simple letter, I grant that it is. But"--
"Paul! It grieves me to throw an icy chill over your ardent
feelings," said Mrs. Denison, interrupting him. "But you may rest
well assured of one thing: Jessie Loring, though no longer Mrs.
Dexter, will not consider herself free to marry again."
"Do you know her views on this subject?" asked the young man,
quickly.
"I think I know the woman. In the spirit of a martyr she took up her
heavy cross, and bore it while she had strength to stand. The martyr
spirit is not dead in her. It will not die while life remains. In
the fierce ordeals through which she has passed, she has learned to
endure; and now weak nature must yield, if in any case opposed to
duty."
"Have you met her of late?" inquired the young man, curiously.
"No, but I talked with Mrs. De Lisle about her not long ago. Mrs. De
Lisle is her most intimate friend, and knows her better, perhaps,
than any other living person."
"And what does she say? Have you conversed with her on this
subject?"
"No; but I have learned enough from her in regard to Jessie's views
of life and duty, as well as states of religious feeling, to be
justified in saying that she will not consider a court's decree of
sufficient authority in the case. Alas! my young friend, I cannot
see cause for gratulation so far as you are concerned. To her, the
act of divorce may give a feeling of relief. A dead weight is
stricken from her limbs. She can walk and breathe more freely; but
she will not consider herself wholly untrammelled. Nor would I. Paul,
Paul! the gulf that separates you is still impassable! But do not
despair! Bear up bravely, manfully still. Six years of conflict,
discipline, and stern obedience to duty have made you more worthy of
a union with that pure spirit than you were when you saw her borne
from your eager, outstretched arms. Her mind is ripening
heavenward--let yours ripen in that direction also. You cannot mate
with her, my friend, in the glorious hereafter, unless you are of
equal purity. Oh, be patient, yet hopeful!"
Hendrickson had bowed his head, and was now sitting with his eyes
upon the floor. He did not answer after Mrs. Denison ceased
speaking, but still sat deeply musing.
"It is a hard saying!" He had raised his eyes to the face of his
maternal friend. "A hard saying, and hard to bear. Oh, there is
something so like the refinement of cruelty in these stern events
which hold us apart, that I feel at times like questioning the laws
that imposed such fearful restrictions. We are one in all the
essentials of marriage, Mrs. Denison. Why are we thus sternly held
apart?"
"It is one of the necessities of our fallen nature," Mrs. Denison
replied, in her calm, yet earnest voice, "that spiritual virtues can
only have birth in pain. We rise into the higher regions of heavenly
purity only after the fires have tried us. Some natures, as you
know, demand a severer discipline than others. Yours, I think, is
one of them. Jessie's is another. But after the earthly dross of
your souls is consumed, the pure gold will flow together, I trust,
at the bottom of the same crucible. Wait, my friend; wait longer.
The time is not yet."
A sadder man than when he came, did Mr. Hendrickson leave the house
of Mrs. Denison on that day. She had failed to counsel him according
to his wishes; but her words, though they had not carried full
conviction to his clouded understanding, had shown him a goal still
far in advance, towards which all of true manhood in him felt the
impulse to struggle.