TEN years had glided away, yet not in all that time had Jessie
Loring received a word of intelligence from Paul Hendrickson. He had
passed from sight like a ship when darkness falls upon the
ocean--the morning sees her not again, and the billows give no
record of the way she went. But still Jessie bore his image at her
heart; still her love was undimmed, and her confidence unshaken--and
still she felt herself bound by the old shackles, which no human
hand could break from her fettered limbs.
One day, about this time, as Mrs. Denison sat reading, a servant
came into her room and handing her a card, said:
"There is a gentleman waiting in the parlor to see you."
She looked at the card, and started with surprise. It bore the name
of PAUL HENDRICKSON.
"My dear friend!" she exclaimed, grasping both of his hands, as she
stood facing him a few moments afterwards.
"My best friend!" was the simple response, but in a voice tremulous
with feeling.
A little while they stood, gazing curiously yet with affectionate
interest, into each other's face.
"You are not much changed; and nothing for the worse," said Mrs.
Denison.
"And you wear the countenance of yesterday," he replied, almost
fondly. "How many thousands of times since we parted, have I desired
to stand looking into your eyes as I do now! Dear friend! my heart
has kept your memory fresh as spring's first offerings."
"Where have you been, in all these years of absence?" Mrs. Denison
asked, as they sat down, still holding each other's hands tightly.
"Far away from here; but of that hereafter. You have already guessed
the meaning of my return to the old places."
"No."
"What! Have you not heard of Mr. Dexter's decease?"
"Paul! is that so?" Mrs. Denison was instantly excited.
"It is. I had the information from a correspondent in London, who
sent me a paper in which was a brief obituary. He died nearly three
months ago, of fever contracted in a hospital, where he had gone to
visit the captain of one of his vessels, just arrived from the coast
of Africa. The notice speaks of him as an American gentleman of
wealth and great respectability."
"And the name is Leon Dexter?" said Mrs. Denison.
"Yes. There is no question as to the identity. And now, my good
friend, what of Jessie Loring? I pray you keep me not longer in
suspense."
So wholly absorbed were they, that the ringing of the street door
bell had not been heard, nor the movement of the servant along the
passage. Ere Mrs. Denison could reply, the parlor door was pushed
quietly open, and Miss Loring entered.
"She stands before you!" said Mrs. Denison, starting up and
advancing a step or two.
"Jessie Loring!"
Mr. Hendrickson uttered the name slowly, but in a voice touched with
the profoundest emotion. He had arisen, but did not advance. She
stood suddenly still, and held her breath, while a paleness
overspread her features. But her long training had given her great
self-control.
"Mr. Hendrickson," she said, advancing across the room.
He grasped her hand, but she did not return the ardent pressure,
though the touch went thrilling to her heart. But the paleness had
left her face.
At this moment Mrs. Denison came forward, and covering their clasped
hands with hers, said in a low, but very emphatic voice:
"There is no impediment! God has removed the last obstruction, and
your way is plain."
Instantly the whole frame of Miss Loring seemed jarred as by a heavy
stroke; and she would have fallen through weakness, if Hendrickson
had not thrown an arm around her. Bearing her to a sofa, he laid
her, very tenderly, in a reclining position, with her head resting
against Mrs. Denison. But he kept one of her hands tightly within
his own; and she made no effort to withdraw it.
"There is no obstruction now, dear friends," resumed Mrs. Denison.
"The long agony is over--the sad error corrected. The patience of
hope, the fidelity of love, the martyr-spirit that could bear
torture, yet not swerve from its integrity, are all to find their
exceeding great reward. I did not look for it so soon. Far in
advance of the present I saw the long road each had to travel, still
stretching its weary length. But suddenly the pilgrimage has ended.
The goal is won while yet the sun stands at full meridian--while yet
the feet are strong, and the heart brave for endurance or battle.
Heroes are ye, and this is my greeting!"
With eyes still closed, Jessie lay very still upon the bosom of this
dear friend. But oh, what a revelation of joy was in the sweet,
half-formed smile that arched her lips with beauty! Hendrickson
stood, still grasping her hand, and looking down into her pure,
tranquil face, with such a rapture pervading his soul, that he
seemed as if entering upon the felicities of heaven.
"This is even better than my hopes," he said, speaking at length,
but in a subdued voice.
Jessie opened her eyes, and now gazed at him calmly, but lovingly.
What a manly presence was his! How wonderfully he was
changed!--Thought, suffering, endurance, virtue, honor, had all been
at work upon his face, cutting away the earthly and the sensual,
until only the lines of that imperishable beauty which is of the
spirit, remained. Every well-remembered feature was there; but the
expression of his whole face was new.
A moment or two only did she look at him--but she read a volume in
love's history at a glance--then closed her eyes again, and, as she
did so, gave back to the hand that still held hers, an answering
pressure.
The long, long trial of faith, love and high religious principle was
over, and they were now standing at the open door of blessing.
And so the reward came at last, as come it always does, to the true,
the faithful, the pure, and the loving--if not in this world,
assuredly in the next--and the great error of their lives stood
corrected.
But what a lesson for the heart! Oh, is there a more fearful
consummation of error in the beginning of life than a wholly
discordant marriage! This mating of higher and lower natures--of
delicacy with coarseness--of sensuality with almost spiritual
refinement--of dove-like meekness with falcon cruelty--of the lamb
with the bear! It makes the very heart bleed to think of the undying
anguish that is all around us, springing from this most frightful
cause of misery!
In less than a month Paul Hendrickson again departed from B--, but
this time not alone, nor with his destination involved in mystery.
His second self went with him, and their faces were turned towards a
southern island, where the earth was as rich in blossom and verdure
as the bride's heart in undying love. Here his home had been for years;
and here his name was an honored word among the people--synonymous
with manly integrity, Christian virtue, and true benevolence.
After the long, fierce battle, peace had come with its tranquil
blessings. After the storm, the sunshine had fallen in glorious
beauty. After the night of suffering, morning had broken in joy.
We stand and gaze, with rapt interest, upon the river when it leaps
wildly over the cataract, or sweeps foaming down perilous rapids, or
rushes through mountain gorges; but turn away from its quiet beauty
when it glides pleasantly along through green savannahs. Such is our
interest in life. And so we drop the curtain, and close our history
here.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Hand But Not the Heart, by T. S. Arthur