One morning as I sat in my room, impatiently waiting for the hour when I
could call upon Lenore; and pondering over the events of my past life--
especially that latest one that had given such a happy turn to it--I was
informed by Mrs Nagger that a lady was downstairs, who wished to see
me.
"What is the ladylike?" I inquired, still thinking of Lenore.
"Like an angel in some great trouble," replied Mrs Nagger; "and more's
the pity! sir, for she's a very nice young lady, I'm sure."
"Did she give any name?"
"No, sir; and more's the pity, for I should like to know it, but she
seems very anxious to see you, and more's the pity, that she should be
kept so long waiting."
I descended the stairs, entered the parlour, and stood face to face with
Jessie H--.
She appeared to be suffering from some acute mental agony; and when I
took her hand I could feel her fingers trembling in my grasp. A hectic
flush overspread her cheeks; and her eyes looked as though she had been
weeping. Her whole appearance was that of a person struggling to
restrain the violent expression of some overwhelming sorrow.
"Jessie! What has happened?" I asked. "There is something wrong? You
look as if there was--you look ill, Jessie."
"Yes," she made answer. "Something _has_ happened; something that has
destroyed my happiness for ever."
"Tell me what it is, Jessie. Tell me all. You know that I will assist
you, in any way that is in my power."
"I do not know that, Rowland. There was a time when you might have
saved me; but now it is too late--too late to appease my aching heart.
I have waited a long while in anxious doubt; and, perhaps, would have
died with the secret in my breast, had I not met you again. It would
have been better so. Oh! Rowland, after meeting you once more in this
strange land, all the memories of the past came over me, only to fill my
soul with sadness and despair. Then it was that my long pent-up grief
gave way; and my heart felt shattered. Rowland! I have come to you in
my misery, not to accuse you of being its cause; but to tell you that
you alone could have prevented it. No mortal could live with more
happiness than I, did I but know that you had the slightest love for me.
Even should we never meet again, there would be joy in the thought that
your love was, or had been mine."
"Jessie! Can you speak thus when--"
"Peace, Rowland! hear me out. I am nearly mad. I will tell you all--
all that I have suffered for you. For that reason have I come here.
They want me to marry a man I do not love. Give me your counsel,
Rowland! Is it not wrong for me to marry him, when I cannot love him--
when I love only you?"
"Jessie, I cannot hear you talk thus. I told you, when we parted in
Australia that I loved another. I have met that other since; and I find
that she is still true to me. I hope never to hear you speak so
despondingly again. To all, life is sorrow; and we should pray for
strength to bear it. Fulfil cheerfully the promises you have made. We
can still be friends and you may yet be happy."
I could perceive, by the quick heaving of her bosom, that her soul was
agitated by powerful emotions, that only became stronger as I continued.
At length this agitation seemed to reach a climax, her arms were thrown
wildly outwards; and without a word escaping from her lips, she fell
heavily upon the floor. She had fainted!
I rang the bell, and called loudly for assistance. Mrs Nagger came
hurrying into the room. I raised the insensible form; and held it in my
arms--while the old housekeeper rubbed her hands, and applied such
restoratives as were near. It seemed as if Jessie H--was never again to
be restored to life. She lay against my bosom like a piece of cold
white marble with not a movement to betoken that she was breathing.
I gently placed her on a couch--resting her pale cheek upon the pillow.
I then requested Mrs Nagger to summon a doctor.
"It's no use, sir," said the woman, her words causing me a painful
apprehension: for I thought that she meant to say there was no hope of
recovery.
"It's no use, sir," repeated Mrs Nagger, "she'll be over it before the
doctor could get here. She's only fainting; and more's the pity, that
such a dear pretty creetur should know the trouble that's causing it.
More's the pity! that's all I can say."
Mrs Nagger's prognosis proved correct, for Jessie soon recovered, and
as she did so, my composure became partially restored.
I began to breathe more freely: for not being used to scenes of this
kind, I had felt not only excited, but very much alarmed.
"Jessie," said I, as I saw her fix her eyes upon me, "you are ill--you
have been fainting?"
"No," she answered, "I have only been thinking--thinking of what you
have said. It was something about--"
She interrupted herself at sight of Mrs Nagger--whom she now noticed
for the first time. The presence of the housekeeper appeared to make
her conscious of what had occurred; and for some moments she remained
silent--pressing her hands against her forehead.
Mrs Nagger perceiving, that she was the cause of some embarrassment,
silently retired from the room.
"Rowland," said Jessie, after the woman had gone, "I have but a few
words more to say. To-morrow I am to be married to Mr Vane. It is my
father's wish; and, as I have been told that his wishes should be my
own, I have consented to obey him. I have tried to love this man but in
vain: for I love another. I love you, Rowland. I cannot govern my
feelings; and too well do I remember your own words, when you said, we
could only love one. I will leave you now, Rowland: I have told you
all."
"Jessie," said I, "I am truly sorry for you; but I trust that after your
marriage you will think differently; and will not allow any memories of
the past to affect your happiness."
"I thank you for your good wishes," she answered, "I will, try to bear
my cruel fate with composure. Farewell, Rowland! I shall now leave
you. I shall go as I have come--alone."
As I took her hand in mine--to speak that parting, which was to be our
last--she fixed her eyes upon me in a glance I shall not forget till my
dying hour.
In another instant she was gone.
To me there was something more than painful in this visit from Jessie.
It surprised me--as did also her bearing and language. Had she been at
all like any other girl, the singularity would have been still more
apparent; but she was not. Her conduct was not to be judged by the same
standard, as if she had been a young lady educated in the highly
civilised society of Europe. She was a child of Nature; and believed
that to conceal her thoughts and affections, was a sin against herself--
as well as against all whom they might regard. In all likelihood she
fondly loved me; and regretted the promise she had given to become the
wife of Vane. Such being the case, she may have deemed it her duty to
make known to me the state of her mind, before she became irrevocably
united to another; and this she had done regardless of consequences. In
acting thus, Jessie H--might have been conscious of no wrong, nor could
I see any, although had another behaved in a similar manner, my opinion
would have been different.
A young lady, brought up in English society, that teaches her rigidly to
conceal every warm affection and impulse of the heart, would have been
acting wrong in doing as Jessie H--had done. In her betrothal to Vane,
she had undoubtedly yielded to the wishes of her father, instead of
following the dictates of her own mind; but such was not the case in her
making that visit to me.
Her marriage was to take place the next day; and it may be supposed that
she ought to have been engaged in making preparations for that important
event. Such would the world decide to have been her duty. But her
artless, pure, and confiding nature, rendered her independent of the
opinions of the world; and she had made one last reckless effort to
possess herself of the man she loved.
The effort had failed. Fate was against her.
I went to make my daily visit to Lenore; and Jessie, along with her
grief, was for awhile forgotten.
Volume Three, Chapter XXXII.