Kitabı oku: «The Hand but Not the Heart; Or, The Life-Trials of Jessie Loring», sayfa 12
CHAPTER XXVI
WHEN the news of Mr. Dexter's second marriage reached Mr. Hendrickson, he said:
"Now she is absolved!" but his friend Mrs. Denison, replied:
"I doubt if she will so consider it. No act of Mr. Dexter's can alter her relation to the Divine law. I am one of these who cannot regard him as wholly innocent. And yet his case is an extreme one; for his wife's separation was as final as if death had broken the bond. But I will not judge him; he is the keeper of his own conscience, and the All-Wise is merciful in construction."
"I believe Jessie Loring to be as free to give her hand as before her marriage."
"With her will rest the decision," was Mrs. Denison's answer.
"Have you seen her?" inquired Hendrickson.
"No."
"Has she been seen outside of her aunt's dwelling?"
"If so I have never heard of it."
"Do you think, if I were to call at Mrs. Loring's, she would see me?"
"I cannot answer the question."
"But what is your opinion?"
"If I were you," said Mrs. Denison, "I would not call at present."
"Why."
"This act of her former husband is too recent. Let her have time to get her mind clear as to her new relation. She may break through her seclusion now, and go abroad into society again. If so you will meet her without the constraint of a private interview."
"But she may still shut herself out from the world. Isolation may have become a kind of second nature."
"We shall see," replied Mrs. Denison. "But for the present I think it will be wiser to wait."
Weeks, even months, passed, and Paul Hendrickson waited in vain. He was growing very impatient.
"I must see her! Suspense like this is intolerable!" he said, coming in upon Mrs. Denison one evening.
"I warn you against it," replied Mrs. Denison.
"I cannot heed the warning."
"Her life is very placid, I am told by Mrs. De Lisle. Would you throw its elements again into wild disturbance?"
"No; I would only give them their true activity. All is stagnation now. I would make her life one thrill of conscious joy."
"I have conversed with Mrs. De Lisle on this subject," said Mrs. Denison.
"You have? And what does she say?"
"She understands the whole case. I concealed nothing—was I right?"
"Yes. But go on."
"She does not think that Jessie will marry during the lifetime of Mr. Dexter," said Mrs. Denison.
Hendrickson became pale.
"I fear," he remarked, "that I did not read her heart aright. I thought that we were conjoined in spirit. Oh, if I have been in error here, the wreck is hopeless!"
He showed a sudden and extreme depression.
"I think you have not erred, Paul. But if Jessie regards the conditions of divorce, given in Matthew, as binding, she is too pure and true a woman ever to violate them. All depends upon that. She could not be happy with you, if her conscience were burdened with the conviction that your marriage was not legal in the Divine sense. Don't you see how such an act would depress her? Don't you see that, in gaining her, you would sacrifice the brightest jewel in her crown of womanhood?"
"Does Mrs. De Lisle know her views on this subject?" he asked.
"Yes."
A quick flush mantled Hendrickson's face.
"Well, what are they?" He questioned eagerly, and in a husky voice.
"She reads the law in Matthew and in Luke, literally."
"The cup is indeed broken, and the precious wine spilled!" exclaimed the unhappy man, rising in strong agitation.
"Paul," said Mrs. Denison, after this agitation had in a measure passed away; "all this I can well understand to be very hard for one who has been so patient, so true, so long suffering. But think calmly; and then ask yourself this question: Would you be willing to marry Jessie Loring while she holds her present views?"
Hendrickson bent his head to think.
"She believes," said Mrs. Denison, "that such a marriage would be adulterous. I put the matter before you in its plainest shape. Now, my friend, are you prepared to take a woman for your wife who is ready to come to you on such terms? I think not. No, not even if her name be Jessie Loring."
"I thank you, my friend, for setting me completely right," said Hendrickson. He spoke sadly, yet with the firmness of a true man. "I have now but one favor to ask. Learn from her own lips, if possible, her real sentiments on this subject."
"I will do so."
"Without delay?"
"Yes. To-morrow I will see Mrs. De Lisle, and confer with her on the subject, and then at the earliest practical moment call with her upon Jessie."
Two days afterwards, Mr. Hendrickson received a note from his friend, asking him to call.
"You have seen her?"
The young man was paler than usual, but calm. His voice was not eagerly expectant, but rather veiled with sadness, as if he had weighed all the chances in his favor, and made up his mind for the worst.
"I have," replied Mrs. Denison.
"She is much changed, I presume?"
"I would scarcely have known her," was answered.
"In what is she changed?"
"She has been growing less of the earth earthy, in all these years of painful discipline. You see this in her changed exterior; your ear perceives it in the tones of her voice; your mind answers to it in the pure sentiments that breathe from her lips. Her very presence gives an atmosphere of heavenly tranquillity."
It was some moments before Hendrickson made further remark. He then said:
"How long a time were you with her, Mrs. Denison?"
"We spent over an hour in her company."
"Was my name mentioned?"
"No."
"Nor the subject in which I feel so deep an interest?"
"Yes, we spoke of that!"
"And you were not in error as to her decision of the case?"
Hendrickson manifested no excitement.
"I was not."
He dropped his eyes again to the floor, and sat musing for some time.
"She does not consider herself free to marry again?"
He looked up with a calm face.
"No."
There was a sigh; a falling of the eyes; and a long, quiet silence.
"I was prepared for it, my friend," he said, speaking almost mournfully. "Since our last interview, I have thought on this subject a great deal, and looked at it from another point of vision. I hare imagined myself in her place, and then pondered the Record. It seemed more imperative. I could not go past it, and yet regard myself innocent, or pure. It seemed a hard saying—but it was said. The mountain was impassable. And so I came fortified for her decision."
"Would you have had it otherwise?" Mrs. Denison asked.
Hendrickson did not answer at once. The question evidently disturbed him.
"The heart is very weak," he said at length.
"But virtue is strong as another Samson," Mrs. Denison spoke quickly.
"Her decision does not produce a feeling of alienation. I am not angry. She stands, it is true, higher up and further off, invested with saintly garments. If she is purer, I must be worthier. I can only draw near in spirit—and there can be no spiritual nearness without a likeness of quality. If the stain of earth is not to be found on her vesture, mine must be white as snow."
"It is by fire we are purified, my friend," answered Mrs. Denison, speaking with unusual feeling.
Not many weeks after this interview with Mrs. Denison, she received a communication from Hendrickson that filled her with painful surprise. It ran thus:
"MY BEST FRIEND:—When this comes into your hands, I shall be away from B—. It is possible that I may never return again. I do not take this step hastily, but after deep reflection, and in the firm conviction that I am right. If I remain, the probabilities are that I shall meet Jessie Loring, who will come forth gradually from her seclusion; and I am not strong enough, nor cold enough for that. Nor do I think our meeting would make the stream of her life more placed. It has run in wild waves long enough—the waters have been turbid long enough—and mine is not the hand to swirl it with a single eddy. No—no. My love, I trust, is of purer essence. I would bless, not curse—brighten, not cloud the horizon of her life.
"And so I recede as she comes forth into the open day, and shall hide myself from her sight. As she advances by self denials and holy charities towards celestial purity, may I advance also, fast enough at least not to lose sight of her in the far off distance.
"You will meet her often, from this time, dear, true, faithful friend! And I pray you to keep my memory green in her heart. Not with such bold reference as shall disturb its tranquil life. Oh, do not give her pain! But with gentle insinuations; so that the thought of me have no chance to die. I will keep unspotted from the world; yet will I not withdraw myself, but manfully take my place and do battle for the right.
"And now, best of friends, farewell! I go out into the great world, to be absorbed from observation in the crowd. But my heart will remain among the old places, and beat ever faithful to its early loves.
"PAUL HENDRICKSON."
He had withdrawn himself from all business connections, and sold his property. With his small fortune, realized by active, intelligent industry, and now represented by Certificates of Deposit in three of the city banks, he vanished from among those who had known and respected him for years, and left not a sign of the direction he had taken. Even idle rumor, so usually unjust, did him no wrong. He had been, in all his actions, too true a man for even suspicion to touch his name.
CHAPTER XXVII
As Hendrickson had rightly supposed, Jessie Loring came forth from her seclusion of years. Not all at once, but by gradual intrusions upon the social life around her. At first she went abroad on a mission of charity. Then her friend Mrs. De Lisle, drew her to her house, and there a new face that interested her awakened a new impulse in her mind. And so the work went on, and ere long she was in part restored to society. But how different from the one who had withdrawn from it years before! Suffering and discipline had left upon her their unmistakable signs. The old beauty of countenance had departed. The elegant style—the abounding grace of manner—the fascinating speech—all were gone. Only those to whom she had been most familiar, recognized in the pale, serene countenance, retiring grace and gentle speech of Jessie Loring, the once brilliant Mrs. Dexter.
And quite as different was the effect she produced upon those who came within the sphere of her chastened thoughts. Before, all admired her; now, all who could draw close enough, found in her speech an inspiration to good deeds. Some were wiser—all were better in right purposes—who met her in familiar intercourse. And the more intimately she was known, the more apparent became the higher beauty into which she had arisen; a celestial beauty, that gave angelic lustre at times to her countenance.
To no one did she mention the name of Hendrickson. If she missed him from the circles which had again opened to receive her, none knew that her eyes had ever looked for his presence. No one spoke to her of him, and so she remained for a time in ignorance of his singular disappearance. A caution from Mrs. De Lisle to Mrs. Loring, made that not over-cautious individual prudent in this case.
One day Jessie was visiting Mrs. Denison, to whom she had become warmly attached. She did not show her accustomed cheerfulness, and to the inquiries of Mrs. Denison as to whether she was as well as usual, replied, as it seemed to that lady, evasively. At length she said, with a manner that betrayed a deep interest in the subject:
"I heard a strange story yesterday about an old acquaintance whom I have missed—Mr. Hendrickson."
"What have you heard?" was inquired.
"That he left the city in a mysterious manner several months ago, and has not been heard of since."
"It is true," said Mrs. Denison.
"Was there anything wrong in his conduct?" asked Jessie Loring, her usually pale face showing the warmer hues of feeling.
"Nothing. Not even the breath of suspicion has touched his good name."
"What is the explanation?"
"Common rumor is singularly at fault in the case," replied Mrs. Denison. "I have heard no reason assigned that to me had any appearance of truth."
"Had he failed in business?" asked Miss Loring.
"No. He was in a good business, and accumulating property. But he sold out, and converting all that he was worth into money, took it with him, and left only his memory behind."
"Had he trouble with any one?"
"No."
Jessie looked concerned—almost sad.
"I would like to know the reason." She spoke partly to herself.
"I alone am in possession of the reason," said Mrs. Denison, after a silence of more than a minute.
"You!"
Thrown off her guard, Jessie spoke eagerly and with surprise.
"Yes. He wrote me a letter at the time, stating in the clearest terms the causes which led to so strange a course of conduct.
"Did you approve of his reasons?" Miss Loring had regained much of her usual calm exterior.
"I accepted them," was answered. "Under all the circumstances of the case, his course was probably the wisest that could have been taken."
"Are you at liberty to state the reasons?" asked Miss Loring.
Mrs. Denison thought for some time.
"Do you desire to hear them?" she then asked, looking steadily into the face of her visitor.
"I do," was firmly answered.
"Then I will place his letter to me in your hands. But not now. When you leave, it will be time enough. You must read it alone."
A sudden gleam shot across the face of Jessie. But it died like a transient meteor.
"I will return home now, Mrs. Denison," she said, with a manner that showed a great deal of suppressed feeling. "You will excuse me, of course."
"Cannot you remain longer? I shall regret your going," said her kind friend.
"Not in my present state of mind. I can see from your manner that I have an interest in the contents of that letter, and I am impatient to know them."
It was all in vain that Jessie Loring sought to calm her feelings as she returned homeward with the letter of Paul Hendrickson held tightly in her hand. The suspense was too much for her. On entering the house of her aunt, she went with unusual haste to her own room, and without waiting to lay aside any of her attire, sat down and opened the letter. There was scarcely a sign of life while she read, so motionless did she sit, as if pulsation were stilled. After reading it to the last word she commenced folding up the letter, but her hands, that showed a slight tremor in the beginning, shook so violently before she was done, that the half closed sheet rattled like a leaf in the wind. Then tears gushed over the letter, falling upon it like rain.
There was no effort on the part of Jessie to repress this wild rush of feeling. Her heart had its own way for a time. In the deep hush that followed, she bowed herself, and kneeled reverently, lifting a sad face and tear-filled eyes upwards with her spirit towards Heaven. She did not ask for strength or comfort—she did not even ask for herself anything. Her soul's deep sympathies were all for another, towards whom a long cherished love had suddenly blazed up, revealing the hidden fires. But she prayed that at all times, in all places, and under all circumstances, he might be kept pure.
"Give him," she pleaded, "patient endurance and undying hope. Oh, make his fortitude like the rock, but his humanities yielding and all pervading as the summer airs laden with sweetness. Sustain him by the divine power of truth. Let Thy Word be a staff in his hand when travel-worn, and a sword when the enemy seeks his life. In his own strength he cannot walk in this way; in his own strength he cannot battle with his foes—but in Thy strength he will be strong as a lion, and as invincible as an army."
After rising from her knees, Miss Loring, over whose spirit a deep quietude had fallen, re-opened Hendrickson's letter and read it again; and not once only but many times, until every word and sentence were written on her memory.
"The way may be rough, and our feet not well shod for the long journey," she said, almost with a smile on her pure face, "the sky may be sunless and moonless, and thick clouds may hide even the stars—but there are soft green meadows beyond, and glorious sunshine. If I am not to meet him here, I shall be gathered lovingly into his arms there, and God will bless the union!"
When next Mrs. Denison saw this young martyr, there was even a serener aspect in her countenance than before. She was in possession of a secret that gave a new vitality to her existence. Until now, all in regard to Hendrickson had been vague and uncertain. Their few brief but disastrous meetings had only revealed an undying interest; but as to the quality of his love, his sentiments in regard to her, and his principles of life, she knew literally nothing. Now all was made clear; and her soul grew strong within her as she looked forward into the distance.
"I will keep that letter," she said to Mrs. Denison, in so firm a voice that her friend was surprised. "It is more really addressed to me than it is to you; and it was but fair that it should come into my possession. He is one of earth's nobler spirits."
"You say well, Miss Loring. He is one of earth's nobler spirits. I know him. How he would stand the fire, I could not tell. But I had faith in him; and my faith was but a prophecy. He has come out purified. I was not at first satisfied with this last step; but on close reflection, I am inclined to the belief that he was right. I do not think either of you are strong enough yet to meet. You would be drawn together by an attraction that might obscure your higher perceptions, and lead you to break over all impediments. That, with your views, would not be well. There would be a cloud in the sky of your happiness; a spot on your marriage garments; a shadow on your consciences."
"There would—there would!" replied Miss Loring with sudden feeling. Then, as the current grew placid again, she said:
"I can hardly make you comprehend the change which that letter has wrought in me. All the thick clouds that mantled my sky, have lifted themselves from the horizon, showing bright gleams of the far away blue; and sunrays are streaming down by a hundred rifts. Oh, this knowledge that I am so deeply, purely, faithfully loved, trammelled as I am, and forbidden to marry, fills my soul with happiness inexpressible. We shall be, when the hand of our wise and good Father leads us together, and His smile falls unclouded upon our union, more blessed a thousand fold than if, in the eagerness of natural impulses, we had let our feelings have sway."
"If you are both strong enough, you will have the higher blessing," was the only answer made by Mrs. Denison.
From that period a change in Jessie Loring was visible to all eyes. There came into her countenance a warmer hue of health; her bearing was more erect, yet not self-confident; her eyes were brighter, and occasionally the flash of old-time thought was in them. Everywhere she went, she attracted; and all who came into familiar intercourse with her, felt the sweetness of her lovely character. The secret of this change was known to but few, and they kept it sacred. Not even Mrs. Loring, the good-hearted aunt, who loved her with a mother's maternal fondness, was admitted into her confidence, for she felt that mere worldliness would bruise her heart by contact. But the change, though its causes were not seen, was perceived as something to love, by Aunt Phoebe, who felt for her niece a daily increasing attachment.
And so the weeks moved on; and so the years came and went. Little change was seen in Jessie Loring; except, that the smile which had been restored, gradually grew less, though it did not bear away the heavenly sweetness from her countenance. In all true charities that came within her sphere of action, whether the ministration were to bodily necessities, or moral needs, she was an angel of mercy; and few met her in life's daily walk, but had occasion to think of her as one living very near the sources of Divine love.
CHAPTER XXVIII
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.
