She darted away before I could speak, and I walked on toward the house, in no mood to encounter the woman at that moment. I saw Jessie and Mr. Lee standing upon the terrace; he turned and went into the house after a few seconds. I paused a moment, collected myself as well as I was able, and walked toward the spot where Jessie stood, determined to tell her at once of my visit to Mr. Bosworth, and urge her to comply with the request which he had made.
Jessie did not look up as I approached; she stood absently pulling the flowers from a vine that fell in luxuriant masses over a trellis by her side, and appeared so much engrossed by her own thoughts, that she did not even hear my footsteps.
They were not pleasant reflections which filled her mind. Sunny visions, such as those which, a few weeks since, had made her face so bright and beautiful, were seldom on her features now. I could see by the mournful expression of her mouth, and the despondency of her whole attitude,—so unlike anything I was accustomed to remark in our Jessie, that something was troubling her.
"You naughty girl!" I said, as I ascended the steps; "how can you find the heart to spoil that pretty vine?"
She started, turned quickly round, and a burning blush shot up to her forehead, while she looked at me in a confused way, as if she supposed me able to read her very thoughts.
"Oh! is it you, Aunt Matty?" she exclaimed, trying to laugh and seem more at ease.
"I believe so," was my answer; "I have every reason to suppose that I am that person, and very tired into the bargain."
"You look fatigued," she said, with her usual kindness; "do go up-stairs and lie down before dinner."
"Now, my dear, you know I am never guilty of that weakness."
"I forgot."
"How could you? I am astonished—when you know how much I pride myself on regular habits and a systematic disposal of my time!"
She laughed a little at my nonsense, which was the thing I desired; for it pained me greatly to see her look so weary and disconsolate.
"At all events, you will sit down, I suppose," she said, running into the hall and bringing out a chair. "Your rigid principles do not prevent that!"
"Thank you, my dear. I am happy to say they do not."
I seated myself, really glad of an opportunity to rest; for now that excitement had passed, I was astonished to find myself worn out in body and mind. The mere walk could never have produced that sensation—I was too much accustomed to out-door exercise for any fine lady feebleness of that kind; but my interview with Bosworth and his friends, the sight of Mrs. Dennison and Mr. Lawrence in the wood, together with Lottie's revelations, had so worked upon my mind, that I had no strength left.
"Dear me! Aunt Matty!" exclaimed Jessie; "how tired and pale you look! I never saw you so overcome!"
"It is nothing. I walked faster than I ought, perhaps."
"That is not all," she answered; "I am sure something troubles you."
"So there does!" I said,—"very greatly!"
"Can I help you? You know how gladly I will do it."
She began untying my bonnet-strings, drawing off my shawl, and performing every little office possible to show her solicitude.
Generally, I dislike to have anybody touch me, or assist me in any way; but it was always a pleasure to feel Jessie's fingers smoothing my hair, or arranging my collar; and just then her assiduity quieted me more than anything else could have done.
"Did you take a long walk?" Jessie asked, apparently anxious to turn my thoughts from the painful theme upon which she supposed them to be dwelling.
"Yes, very long, Jessie; I have been over to old Mrs. Bosworth's."
She looked at me in astonishment.
"Why, you hardly know the ladies! How came you to go there, Aunt Matty?"
"The old lady sent for me."
"Sent for you!" interrupted Jessie, in wonder and displeasure, while her great eyes gave me a searching glance.
"Young Bosworth is very sick, and he wished so much to see me that his grandmother put aside all ceremony, and desired me to go as soon as possible."
Jessie turned very pale while I spoke, and leaned heavily against the arm of my chair.
"Was it sudden?" she asked, trembling. "Has he been sick long, Matty?"
"For several days, I believe."
I had not the heart to tell her that he was stricken down the very day after his last visit to her father's house, lest she should accuse herself as the cause.
"What is the matter?"
"He has brain-fever, Jessie."
She uttered a cry.
"Oh! Aunt Matty! Aunt Matty!"
"I hope he is not in great danger," I said, anxious to soothe her. "He was able to talk with me, and he had a comfortable sleep."
She put her hands in mine, with a look so beseeching and helpless, that I answered as if she had spoken.
"He asked for you," I said. "He wants to see you, Jessie."
She shrunk back, and held up her hands like a child pleading for pity.
"Oh! I cannot go! indeed I cannot!"
"That is unlike you, Jessie. I did not think you would have refused a sick friend any request!"
"Don't blame me—please don't! I would do anything for him; but, indeed, I have not the courage to go there."
"Why, what do you fear, my child? I am sure he would not for the world speak a syllable that could pain you."
"I know that, Aunt Matty—I am certain of it."
"Then what is it?"
"Old Mrs. Bosworth has such a stately way; so soft, yet decided. She will look at me so sharply."
"I found her very kind and grateful."
"But she may think that I have done wrong."
"She is too just, too noble, Jessie, to blame any one for that which was not a fault."
"Oh, Aunt Matty! even you speak and look so grave! I cannot bear it—indeed I cannot!"
I was softened at once. How could I speak so coldly to my Jessie, while she stood there trembling, with her great eyes full of tears.
"My own darling!" I said, quickly. "You know I could never feel anything but love for you. Don't shake so, dear! We won't speak of this, if it troubles you."
"No, no! I ought to hear—I must not be so weak."
She struggled against her feelings, brushed away her tears, and stood up so firm and determined, that I felt a new respect for her. It was beautiful to see how the true womanhood that lay at the bottom of her nature roused itself, and asserted its supremacy in that moment of doubt and distress.
"You are a brave girl!" I exclaimed,—"my dear, honest-hearted Jessie!"
"You must not praise me," she said. "I feel so guilty and wicked."
"That is wrong; you should not give way to these morbid feelings."
"Indeed, Aunt Matty, I am not like the same girl I was a few months ago."
I knew whence the change came—I could have given its exact date; but it did not extend back over a period of months—a few weeks had served to bring that unrest and trouble upon the sweet girl. With the coming of Mrs. Dennison all those shadows had crept into the house, gathering silently but surely about every heart, piding those who before had no thought nor wish that was not common to all. I felt, too, that she was preparing the way for deeper and darker troubles, which lingered not far off, only awaiting the command of the arch-magician to approach and wrap us in their folds.
While I was lost in gloomy thoughts which those words had aroused, Jessie turned from my chair and walked slowly up and down the terrace, after a habit she had inherited from her father in any season of doubt or perplexity. At last she came softly back and leaned over me again.
"Aunt Matty," she whispered, timidly.
"Yes, dear."
I looked in her face, and its expression told me at once what her decision had been.
"You will go," I said.
"Yes, I will. It is right—it is my duty! If he were never to get well, I should reproach myself bitterly for not having granted his request."
"God bless you, Jessie! I knew you would not refuse."
"I am sure that my parents will have no objection."
"I can answer for that—the most scrupulous person could see no harm. Besides, Bosworth is a favorite both with your father and mother."
"Yes. Dear mamma will be so sorry to hear that he is ill—poor young man!"
"We will go to-morrow, Jessie. I dare say your father will accompany you."
"But I want you also, Aunt Matty; I should have no courage if you were not there."
"I will go, of course. You must speak to Mr. Lee about it—don't forget."
"I am not likely to; I will tell him this evening. But Aunt Matty—"
"Yes. Don't hesitate so. One would think you were afraid of your old friend. Not a cross one, am I?"
That made her laugh again; but the merriment died quickly. Her sensitive heart was so sorely troubled that her usual gayety was quite gone.
"I shall never fear you; but what I meant was that I don't wish Mrs. Dennison to know that I am going."
"She is not likely to learn it from me, Jessie."
"She would laugh at me—and this is no subject nor time for a jest."
"I should think not, indeed. The woman who could make a mockery of such feelings would be a libel on her sex."
"Only the old bitterness—don't mind it, Jessie. But we won't tell Mrs. Dennison."
At that moment I detected a rustle in the hall. My hearing was always singularly acute,—Jessie used to say that I was like a wild animal in that respect,—and I felt confident that I heard some one stealing away from behind us.
I started up at once, hurried into the hall, and met Cora, Mrs. Dennison's maid, face to face. She was running off—I could have sworn to that; but the moment she heard my step she turned toward me with her usual composure and pleasant smile.
"What do you want here, Cora?" I asked, more sharply than I often spoke to a dependant; for, of all people in the world, it is my habit to treat servants kindly. "Pray, what brings you into this hall?"
"I was just coming to look for my mistress, ma'am. Excuse me; I didn't know it was wrong."
"I have not said that it was," I answered, still convinced that she had been listening; "but our own domestics are never permitted to pass through this hall unless called."
"I will remember—I beg pardon."
"Mrs. Dennison is not here."
"Oh! excuse me—"
She stopped. I saw her curtsy, turned, and there stood Mr. Lee, looking at me gravely. He had heard my ill-natured tone, and could see the flush of anger on my face.
"What is the matter, Miss Hyde?" he asked, quietly enough; but the tone displeased me, and I replied with a good deal of sharpness,—
"I am not aware of anything, sir; Cora was searching for her mistress."
"That is right enough, I am sure."
"She is not here," I continued, feeling a savage pleasure in the words I spoke; "she is out in the woods with Mr. Lawrence."
Mr. Lee colored slightly, but managed to conceal his discomposure.
Cora hurried away after giving me a spiteful glance, and Jessie, who had heard my words, came into the hall.
"Mrs. Dennison told me that she should be busy all the morning in her room," she said, quickly.
"I can't help what she said, my dear; I only know that I saw her walking with Mr. Lawrence."
"Surely it is her privilege, if she feels disposed, to walk with any person," Mr. Lee said, laughing with a very bad grace, while Jessie looked much disturbed.
"I have no desire to interfere with the lady's movements," I said, my temper still in the ascendant; "but I see no necessity for saying one thing and doing another."
Mr. Lee appeared surprised at my outburst. I dare say it was not lady-like; but I am not made of stone, and my real feelings will peep out occasionally.
"I am afraid Mrs. Dennison would think you spoke harshly to her servant," he said. "I shouldn't like a guest in this house to be annoyed."
For the first time I was angry with Mr. Lee. I was not a dependant; I was not accustomed to anything but affection and respect in that house, and the reproof in his voice, added to my own feeling of self-dissatisfaction, made me quite furious.
"Sir," I said, "you have always requested us not to permit servants to enter this hall; when you wish to change any of your regulations, be good enough to inform me in advance."
I turned away before he could speak, and Jessie went to him, saying something in a low voice.
"Miss Hyde!" he called out, approaching me and extending his hand. "Why, dear friend, you are not angry with me? I would rather cut off this right hand than have that happen."
My anger evaporated at once; like a silly fool as I am, the tears gathered in my eyes. He shook my hand heartily, while Jessie hovered about us like an anxious bird.
"I really meant no harm," he began; but I would not hear a word.
"I am ashamed of myself," I said, "and that is the end of it; I am tired and cross."
"You are not well," he replied, kindly. "Jessie, make her go and lie down."
"She never will, papa."
She put her arm caressingly about my waist, and Mr. Lee stood holding my hand, petting me as if my words had been a matter of the greatest consequence. Suddenly Mrs. Dennison entered from the terrace, and exclaimed, with a gay laugh,—
"What a pretty scene! Are you acting a comedy, Mr. Lee? How well you do it!"
He dropped my hand in some confusion, and turned toward her.
"Better comedy than tragedy," he said.
"Oh, yes, a thousand times! But Miss Hyde's role seems to be a sentimental one—she looks very lugubrious!"
I longed to strike her full in her insolent mouth; but as that was impossible, I determined to pay her off for once in her own coin. A spirit of retaliation was roused within me that I had never before possessed.
"You seem gay enough to make amends," I said. "Did you and Mr. Lawrence have a pleasant walk?"
What a fool I was to think I could send a blow that would have any effect upon that piece of marble!
She laughed outright, and clapped her hands in childish exultation.
"She wants to accuse me of being a flirt!" she exclaimed; "Oh, you naughty Miss Hyde! I did meet Mr. Lawrence, but I had no idea of doing so when I went out. I think now I shall make a merit of my intention!"
"You might always do so, I am sure," said Mr. Lee, gallantly.
She held up a beautiful bouquet of wild flowers.
"I heard Mrs. Lee wish for some blossoms fresh from the woods last night," she said; "so I went to gather them."
Mr. Lee's face grew all sunshine at once; even Jessie was appeased, and, unseen by either, the widow shot me a quick glance of scorn.
"How kind it was of you!" Jessie said. "Mamma will be so much obliged!"
"I wanted to please her, darling Jessie," replied the widow. "But I must make one confession; will you grant me absolution, Mr. Lee?"
"I can safely do that in advance. I am sure you have no very terrible sin to reveal."
"Oh, I told a fib!" And she laughed archly. "I wanted to go all alone, so that dear Mrs. Lee would give me full credit for my thoughtfulness.—You see how vain and selfish I am!—so I told Jessie that I was going to be occupied in my own room."
"I think when selfishness takes a form like this, it is a very valuable quality to possess," returned Mr. Lee.
Mrs. Dennison treated me to another flash from her scornful eyes, then added,—
"And while I was picking flowers, who should pass but Mr. Lawrence; so I made him stop. But I might as well have let him go on."
"Why so?" demanded Mr. Lee.
"Because he was very ungallant; did nothing but talk of Jessie, and never said a pretty thing to me."
Jessie blushed, but the smile on her lips showed that she was far from annoyed.
"So that is all my secret," continued Mrs. Dennison. "Now, we will take this unfortunate bouquet up to Mrs. Lee. Come, Jessie."
"May I go?" asked the gentleman.
"If you will be very good. But mind you do not tease for the flowers—we cannot spare a single one!"
"I promise."
"Then come with us."
Mrs. Dennison had one arm about Jessie's waist; she kept Mr. Lee close at her side, and so engrossed and fascinated both father and daughter, that they passed on without remembering that I was there.
It was just what the woman intended: she wished to make me feel of how little consequence I was in the house when she chose to exercise her supremacy. That was her way of revenging herself for my rude speech in regard to her ramble.
If it is absolutely necessary for me to tell the entire and exact truth, I must admit that she succeeded perfectly in wounding me. I was greatly pained, but not altogether from jealousy or sensitiveness. Hurt as I was to see how completely my friends were made to forget their solicitude at that woman's bidding, I was still more troubled to perceive how, every day, her influence in that house increased, how artfully she wove the threads of her net about us, and entangled everybody more helplessly in its meshes.
While I stood thinking of those things, I was startled by a sound close at hand—a very singular noise, such as one might expect from an antiquated raven troubled with bronchitis. From behind a screen that stood in the hall bounded Miss Lottie, emitting another of those unearthly croaks, and stationing herself directly in front of me with one of her most impish looks.
"I am astonished at you!" said she, shaking her head, and pursing up her lips until her words came out in a sort of strangled whistle. "I really am more astonished, Miss Hyde, than I should be to see two Christmases come in the same year!"
"What is the matter now?" I asked, laughing in spite of myself.
"To think of your going and trying to circumvent Babylon! Why, she's almost more'n a match for me, and to see you floppin' up at her quite took my breath away!"
"You are impertinent, Lottie!"
"Well, I don't mean to be! But just let me caution you a trifle. Don't try any such game—she'll only fling it back right in your teeth, as she did just now, sail off with her feathers spread, and leave you feeling as flat as a pancake!"
I had an internal conviction that Lottie was correct in her judgment; but not considering it necessary to admit as much, I made an effort to turn the subject.
"What were you doing behind that screen? I hope you haven't taken to listening to the whole house."
"Now, Miss Hyde, I didn't think you'd accuse me in that way. But I don't blame you—Babylon's made you huffy! Cut in agin, Miss Matty, if you want to!"
"But you should not do those things, Lottie!"
"Not quite so fast, if you please. I can tell you what I went behind there for."
"I do not wish to inquire into your proceedings," I said, coldly, and was moving away; but she caught me by the arm.
"Please don't go off mad, Miss Hyde," she pleaded; "I'll tell you the truth. I was in the little room looking out a book Mrs. Lee wanted, when I heard you and Miss Jessie talking on the terrace. I didn't know what you said, and didn't want to; but just then I saw Cora creep through the hall, and stand listening by the door. So I slips out, got behind the screen, and, once there, I had to stay till the folks got off."
"Then she was listening?" I said.
"I should rather guess she was! and a-shaking them big ear-rings. She didn't miss a word, you may be sure!"
"Why does she do those things?"
"Why? Come, now, that's good! 'Cause Babylon tells her to, and 'cause her heart's blacker than her face, and she loves mischief as well as the gray cat does cream."
"You cannot think her mistress would countenance her in such proceedings."
"I don't think nothing about it—I know, Miss Hyde. She's got countenance of her own, though, to help her through a'most anything! But I tell you she's sot on to spy and listen."
"That is a fault you ought to judge leniently, Lottie."
"No, 'tain't, Miss Hyde! I've always been above things of that sort; but since Babylon's come the world's changed, and I have to fix myself according to circumstances. But don't you fall foul o' either of them again—'tain't no use! Why, she walked Mr. Lee and Miss Jessie right off afore your eyes, and you may bet your front teeth that by this time she's made them believe you're cross-grained, and jealous as a lap-dog!"
"I begin to think I am, Lottie."
"No, you ain't—you can't stay cross two minutes! And as for good looks—wal, if you furbelowed yourself off like some folks that shall be nameless, you'd be more than as young-looking as some folks themselves."
I turned again to go, but Lottie had, as usual, a few last words which must be spoken.
"See here, Miss Hyde," said she; "Babylon'll carry Mr. Lee off, I know, and Miss Jessie's got her heart so full that she'll slip away to her own room; so you must go and sit with Mrs. Lee."
"I will go to her room as soon as Mrs. Dennison leaves."
"That won't be long. She ain't going to coop herself up for nobody; trust her!"
"Very well; I shall be ready."
"And, Miss Hyde—"
"Well?"
"Now, don't be mad—I must say it! Just leave Babylon to me—you ain't no shakes where she is concerned; you'll only get yourself into a brile, and muddle matters—leave her to me!"
She gave her head a consequential toss and darted away, singing some dolorous ditty about "Long Ago."
I went up to my chamber, sad and sick at heart. Our little world seemed going very wrong; but how to remedy that which was amiss I could not tell. I was powerless, and could only remain quiet and let things take their course, praying that God would shield those so dear to me from sorrow and harm.
Perhaps an hour after, there was a low tap at my door, and, in obedience to my summons, Lottie danced into the room.
"She's all alone, Miss Hyde. Babylon's trotted Mr. Lee into the garden, and Miss Jessie's in her own chamber. Come right along and sit with Mrs. Lee."
I rose at once and went to the chamber of our dear invalid. She was lying on a sofa, supported by pillows, and looking with pleasure at the bouquet of wild flowers that had been placed on her table.
"I am glad to see you, Miss Hyde," she said. "Come in and sit here close by me. Look at my pretty flowers."
"They are very lovely!" I replied.
"They make me feel as if I were in the woods."
She sighed, checked the vain regret, and added cheerfully.
"Mrs. Dennison brought them to me. Was it not thoughtful of her? I was wishing for them last night."
"Very thoughtful," I said.
"You look tired," she observed; "sit down and we will have one of our old, quiet hours. Mr. Lee had to go out, and Mrs. Dennison has gone to Jessie's room; so we shall be all alone."
Another falsehood! My blood fairly boiled! Lottie had just seen the pair in the garden. But I could not speak—a word, a look might have destroyed that poor creature's peace forever! No syllable from my lips should send a thought of suspicion to her heart!
I did sit down, and we had a long, pleasant conversation; for with those whom she knew well, Mrs. Lee was an exceedingly agreeable companion, although ill-health had made her nervous in the presence of strangers.
After a time she began to speak of Jessie, and then it occurred to me that it would be a favorable opportunity to tell her of Jessie's desire to visit Mrs. Bosworth.
She was shocked to hear of her young favorite's illness, and when I told her how anxious he was to see Jessie, and how necessary it seemed that he should not be opposed, she agreed with me that her daughter ought to go.
"Certainly, certainly," she said. "Mr. Lee will think so too. You were quite right to promise, Miss Hyde."
"I thought so."
"Poor young man! Do you know, Martha Hyde, I used to think he was very fond of our Jessie? But of late I have so seldom left my room, or seen any one, that I don't know what goes on."
I did not answer, and she changed the subject, with the excitability of all sick people.
"Mrs. Dennison makes the house very gay," she said.
"Very! Her manners are charming!"
"She seems a superior woman. Do you begin to like her, Martha?"
"Oh, I am difficult to please, you know," I replied, trying to laugh. "Girls, old or young, and widows seldom agree; besides, I can only care for people whom I have known a long time."
She did not answer, but pushed her hair back from her forehead, and looked absently at the flowers.
"I have such bad dreams," she said; "I never can recall them distinctly; but they seem full of trouble."
"Of whom do you dream?"
"All of you—principally of Jessie. Sometimes I think I must be awake and standing in her room—the vision is so real."
"Such fancies are very common to an invalid," I said.
"Oh, yes; I don't mind them."
She pulled the flowers toward her, and began playing with them after Jessie's childish fashion. It gave me a strange feeling to see those blossoms in her hand; when I remembered whose gift they had been, I felt as if my friend held Cleopatra's venomous asp in every flower that she touched.
"Will you read to me a while?" she asked, at length. "There is a new poem on the table; take that."
Of course, I complied at once, and read to her for some time; then I saw the flowers drop from her hand—her head sank back among the pillows, and soon her regular breathing proved that she was sleeping quietly.
I laid down the volume, and looked at her with pain and solicitude. She was so helpless! The least shock might terminate that frail existence; and I had grown so nervous that I was always expecting some trouble to force itself into that room, which, until lately, had been securely guarded by a husband's love.
She moved restlessly in her sleep; broken words fell from her lips; very soon they framed themselves into complete sentences. She had sunk into one of those singular somnambulistic slumbers which formed such a strange feature of her illness.
"I am tired," she said; "I have walked so fast! How pretty the summer-house looks! It is so long since I have been here! There is Mr. Lee—"
She paused and breathed rapidly.
"Why, Mrs. Dennison is with him! She said she was going to Jessie's room! How earnestly she talks to him! She lays her hand on his arm!"
She paused again, with a sort of cry.
"Martha Hyde! Martha! my husband is giving her flowers—passion-flowers! She asks him to put them in her hair! What does that mean, say?"
She became so violently agitated that I thought it best to rouse her. I leaned over her and shook her arm slightly. The change of position seemed to alter the dream, and once more she slept quietly.
I went back to the window, and sat looking out behind the curtains. It was sunset, and gorgeously beautiful. But in the distraction of my thoughts I could not heed its loveliness.
While I sat there I saw Mr. Lee and Mrs. Dennison pass along one of the paths. They had been out on the upper terrace, and were approaching the house. The lady had no bonnet on, and wreathed in her hair I saw some superb passion-flowers which the poor wife had described in her dream.
I grew sick and faint with doubt and horror. I must do something; I could not longer sit passive and dumb, and see that woman wreck all our lives. But what to do? which way to turn?
Alas! I was very helpless after all! There was no one to whom I could confide my suspicions—no one to whom I could open my heart, and the only hope I had was in that wild girl, who had understood the real character of our visitor so much more quickly than any of her superiors.
While I was thinking of this thus painfully, the door of the inner room opened, and Lottie stood there, beckoning to me.
I went into her chamber, and she closed the door. She was in great excitement and glee.
"Babylon's been at it," she whispered.
"At what?"
"Talking about you. Oh, my! hain't you woke up a hornet's nest! Cora's mad too; golly, don't she go on. I told you to let things alone."
"I care very little for Mrs. Dennison's anger," I said.
"I don't suppose you do. But she'll pay you off if she can. So look sharp, Miss Hyde; these are times for sleeping with both eyes open. No chance to dream or make verses now."
"Nonsense, child!"
"Nonsense, if you choose; but that don't alter the matter. Babylon's brought Mr. Lee back to the house; she had him out in the garden to make all right about Lawrence."
"Stop, Lottie!"
"I have stopped—sha'n't say no more! Hark! what was that?"
It was a call—an appeal for help. A voice from Mrs. Lee's room cried with energy,—
"Martha Hyde! Martha Hyde!"
I rushed into the chamber, followed by Lottie, and found Mrs. Lee half risen on her sofa, tossing her arms about, and calling still upon my name, although she was yet asleep.
Many moments passed before I could rouse her, and when I did, she sank back on the pillows perfectly exhausted. I administered such restoratives as were at hand, and, with Lottie's assistance, succeeded in bringing her out of the half swoon into which she had fallen; but she was fearfully weak, and much excited.
"I have had such terrible dreams," she moaned, "I am afraid to go to sleep."
"They are over now," I said, soothingly; "you shall sit up and have your tea."
"Yes, please. Don't let me sleep any more, don't, Martha Hyde."
All the while she held fast to my hand and looked wildly in my eyes, repeating,—
"Such dreadful dreams, Martha Hyde—oh! such dreadful dreams!"
That evening we had a number of visitors from the town, and so much gayety that it quite passed from my mind to speak with Mr. Lee concerning the call upon young Bosworth. Indeed, I was not in the parlors much of the time, for he came to me and asked if I would sit a while with his wife, as he could not leave his guests, and she was so much more nervous than usual, he did not like trusting her entirely with Lottie.
I felt grateful to him for remembering her, and went away at once. As I passed toward the hall, I saw Jessie at the piano surrounded by a group of gentlemen, Lawrence nearest, turning over the music, and talking to her at intervals.
Mrs. Dennison was flitting about like a gorgeous butterfly, making merriment and pleasant conversation wherever she went.
Her quick eyes detected me as I passed the music-room door. She moved along, smelling carelessly at her flowers, the sight of which made me sick; they were roses from the choicest varieties that Mrs. Lee considered peculiarly her own.
"Going to preserve your bloom by an early sleep, Miss Hyde?" she asked, pleasantly.
"I am going to sit with Mrs. Lee," I replied, coldly enough, I dare say. I was not accustomed to dissimulation, and when I disliked and doubted a person as I did her, it was very difficult for me to conceal it.
"You are quite the guardian-angel of the house," she returned, so sweetly that no one except a suspicious creature like me would have perceived the covert insult under her words; "I expect every day to see you unfold your wings and fly off."
"This is my home," I answered, quietly, "so I shall not fly very far from it in all probability."
She laughed in her charming way; but there was an expression in her eyes which would have startled me, had I not felt that she was powerless to do me personal injury.
"And a pleasant home you have," she said, with a sigh; "you can't think, Miss Hyde, how delightful it seems to a tired worldling like me."
I was in no humor to listen to sentiment, and I replied curtly,—
"Not tired, Mrs. Dennison, or, of course, you would forsake the society that wearies you."
She shook her head patronizingly and smiled, oh, such a sweet, sad smile—she must have practised for days to attain such perfection in it.
"How innocent you are!" she said; "I envy you, dear, kind Miss Hyde!"
How I longed to fling back her affectionate epithets with the scorn they deserved; but, of course, that was impossible, so I made a movement to go, trembling all over with repressed indignation.
"You are running away from me as usual," she said, reproachfully; "I never get a moment now of your honest, sensible conversation."
"I trust you do not suffer much from the loss," was all the answer I made.
I know I am not very wise; I do not deny having my share of little vanities; but Mrs. Dennison had not found the road which led to them.
"I do indeed," she replied; "but I see you will not believe me."
"You have not an exalted opinion of my courtesy, Mrs. Dennison."
"Ah, now you are going to be sarcastic—my dear Miss Hyde, that is not in your way."
She added a few more playful words, then I was resolute to go. I left her standing there in one of her graceful attitudes, playing negligently with her roses.
Once in the hall, I glanced back; the widow had changed her position,—she was stationed by a window,—I saw Mr. Lee approach her, and they began an earnest conversation. I turned and went up-stairs, growing sadder and more sick at heart.
Mrs. Lee slept quietly nearly the whole time, so that I had ample opportunity for my sorrowful reflections,—more than I desired, since dwelling upon the things which troubled me only increased my restlessness, without bringing me any nearer a conclusion that could have been of the least value.
After Mrs. Lee had gone to bed, I went into my own room, and saw no one again that night. When it was too late, I remembered that I had not spoken to Mr. Lee, but consoled myself with fancying that Jessie would tell him, or that I should have an opportunity in the morning.
I was disappointed both ways. When I went down to breakfast, I found that Mr. Lee had been obliged to ride over to the iron works. He had gone before any one was stirring, and would not return until late in the afternoon.
While one of the servants was giving me that information, Mrs. Dennison passed through the hall. She hurried on with a smile, but I noticed that the skirt of her dress was wet and soiled; I felt certain that she knew of Mr. Lee's intention, and had gone out to meet him, and hold one of her private conversations.
Before she appeared again, Jessie joined me in the breakfast-room.
"How late we all are!" she said; "it is too bad."
"I quite overslept myself," I replied; then I remembered my thought of the last night. "Oh, my dear! did you ask your father to go with us to Mrs. Bosworth's?"
"I had no opportunity," she answered, blushing crimson. "I am afraid, too, that I half forgot it."
I knew the reason of that; Lawrence had been talking to her all the evening.
"It does not make much difference," I said; "I will go with you."
"I am sure papa would be willing," she observed, looking troubled at the idea of the visit.
"I spoke of it to your mother; she desired you to go."
"Very well then," replied Jessie; "suppose we start after breakfast; we can get back before mamma will want us in her room."
"I shall be ready; we can walk across the fields."
"Yes; then Mrs. Dennison need not know anything about it."
"Hush!" I said; "there she is."
Mrs. Dennison came in airy and graceful as usual; I noticed that she had changed her dress. She kissed Jessie with as much affection as if she had not seen her for a week, and began discoursing with great volubility.
"I was up before either of you," she said; "I have been out in the garden, ruining my white dress, and racing among the beds, to the great astonishment of the old gardener."
"You look fresh and charming as the roses themselves," Jessie replied.
"Of course. But don't pay compliments; Miss Hyde does not like them."
"If they are sincere, I do," I said.
"Ah! then you must like mine. Indeed, I should be afraid to tell you a story; I am certain those honest eyes of yours would detect it at once."
I disclaimed any such extraordinary powers for my poor eyes, and the widow rattled on about something else. She always went from one subject to another in a rapid, graceful way, like a bird flying about in the trees.
"Why, where is Mr. Lee?" she asked.
"Gone out," said Jessie; "he went early."
"How ungallant," she returned; but she looked so very innocent that I was more than ever convinced she had seen him before his departure.
One thing I could say for Mrs. Dennison, she never troubled her hosts to entertain her. Directly after breakfast, she went, as usual, her own way, and Jessie and I were free to start upon our expedition.
"We had better go at once," I said; "there is no telling when she may dance in upon us again."
"You don't like her, Aunt Matty," replied Jessie; "I am sure you don't, yet she is very charming."
"Never mind; there is no time to discuss my fancies," I said. "Get your bonnet, Jessie."
She hesitated and grew a little pale, but complied at once. We were ready in a few moments, and, passing through the garden, went down the path by the grove, and took our way across the fields to the old house.
Jessie was very silent during our walk, and I was so much occupied with my plans and my fancies that I had little time to break the thread of her thoughts.
When we reached the gate that led into the door-yard, Jessie stopped.
"Oh, I am so frightened," she said.
Poor child! she was very pale, and shook from head to foot with an agitation that reminded me painfully of her mother's nervous excitements. I did my best to soothe her, but, in spite of her efforts, it was some moments before she could go on.
"You will not mind it after the first meeting," I said.
"I am very foolish, I know. There, I am ready now."
As we turned into the avenue, I saw Mr. Lawrence pass along the road on horseback. He gave a sharp, quick look, and rode on. I said nothing to Jessie; it was useless to agitate her further. His passing at that time might have been mere chance.
Jessie clung to me as we went up the two broad steps and entered the hall. I did not speak, contenting myself with a reassuring pressure of the hand; for I knew from experience that in cases of nervous dread one is only made worse by persuasions and cheering speeches.
We were shown into the room where I had before waited for old Mrs. Bosworth, and very soon I heard the rustle of her dress in the hall.
The old lady came in with her stately manner, but I could see that trouble and watching had left their effect upon her, and it seemed to me that I could discover smothered pain in her eyes when she greeted Jessie. But she was exceedingly kind,—so gentle and caressing, that the girl soon recovered from her fright and began to look like herself.
"You will excuse my daughter's absence, I hope," the old lady said; "she is lying down. She is not very strong, and watching has quite worn her out."
"But you think your grandson better?" I asked.
"Much better; yes, much better."
There was thanksgiving in her very voice. Jessie said, tremulously,—
"We were very sorry to hear of his sickness."
"Thank you, Miss Lee; I was sure you would be."
The old lady's fingers worked nervously; I knew, in spite of her pride, what was in her heart. She longed to take Jessie in her arms, to beseech her to speak the one word that would bring her boy back to life and happiness.
"He suffers less with his head, I suppose?" I said, breaking the little pause which would soon have proved awkward.
"It is quite easy this morning; indeed, last night he slept for several hours undisturbed. He is so patient," she continued, "so gentle; but that is natural to him."
I knew she was glad to have that opportunity of praising Bosworth; she felt as if it was indirectly doing something to interest Jessie in his favor.
"It was very kind of you to come, Miss Lee," she said. "I thought you would be willing to humor a sick man's fancies, and he pined so to see all his old friends," she added, quickly, with her old-world tact, for the color began to flicker on Jessie's cheek.
"My father would have come also," said the girl, talking rapidly, "but he was obliged to go out very early; and you know my mother seldom leaves her room."
"It is sad that she should be so great an invalid," said the old duchess—I must call her so. "My daughter and I go out very little. We have often wished to see more of you, but age and infirmity are by force unsocial."
"Mrs. Lee is fond of company," I said. I longed to do all I could to draw the two families together.
"Ah, if that is the case, we shall call frequently upon her. It may do her some good;" she looked at Jessie as she spoke.
"Mamma will be so pleased," she said, quite firmly; "it is very monotonous to live always shut up in her room; she is naturally very social, and to such, solitude is mournful."
"So it is; but I pity the young most! If I could only have taken my poor boy's illness in his stead."
She was checked by the entrance of an old servant, who whispered something in her ear.
"Will you go up-stairs?" she said, turning to me; "my grandson knows you are here."
She took Jessie's hand softly, leading her away, and I followed. Jessie bore up like a little Spartan, but I could see what an effort it was,—I pitied her far more than any one else.
When we entered the sick-room, it was a shock to Jessie. In spite of all I had said, she was not prepared to find Bosworth so changed. They had put a dressing-gown upon him, but its gay colors only increased the ghastliness of his face, already wasted and worn by fever.
He was so happy to see us—so like a child that fears to give pain by its own pleasure. I think Jessie took heart after the first few moments; and I could see the old lady watching her in secret, as if she thought that, unless she were only a beautiful piece of marble, she must be softened now.
"It was very selfish of me, Miss Jessie," he said, "to call you away from your amusements to visit a poor, sick fellow."
"I was very glad to come," she replied; "my mother is so anxious about you, she could not rest till some of us had been here."
"She is very kind," he said, with the touching smile of illness.
At last we fell to talking quite cheerfully. I did my best to prevent the restraint we were all under becoming perceptible; I dare say it was blunderingly done, but it succeeded tolerably well.
Bosworth made Jessie tell him all about her flowers—he was a great botanist—and I chimed in with the wonderful history of a nest of young birds I had found, and really made him laugh at my nonsense.
But he was weak, and soon grew weary,—I saw it, and made Jessie a sign to go.
"Not yet," he said, as we rose; "stay a while longer, please."
So we sat down again, but I saw by his eyes that his senses began to cloud a little.
"What is that hymn you sing, Miss Jessie?" he asked, suddenly; "it has been running in my head all the morning."
Jessie could not speak; she was trying with all her might to keep back her tears; so I said,—
"You mean that little gem of Mrs. Hemans—'Child Amid the Flowers at Play.'"
"Yes," he replied, "that is it. Won't you sing it for me?"
It really was heroic, the way that poor girl struggled with herself and forced back her composure. She turned her face a little from the light and began to sing; her voice was very low and tremulous, but I never heard it sound so sweet; Bosworth lay back on his pillow and listened with a happy smile.
"Thank you," he said, when she finished; "I can sleep now—you were very kind to come."
He tried to take her hand, said a few more broken words, and then we went away. I saw that Jessie could endure nothing more. Old Mrs. Bosworth detected it too; she must have felt for the girl, and was grateful to her for that visit. She did not accompany us down-stairs, and I was glad to make our farewell as short as possible.
The moment we were out of the house, Jessie gave way completely, and sobbed and wept as I never before saw her.
"Do you think he will die, Aunt Matty?" she asked.
"I do not; he is certainly better."
"But he looks dreadfully; I never saw anybody altered so much."
"You are not accustomed to fevers, my dear. I am, and he will get better. I am glad you have made this visit; it will do him good."
"Then I am glad, too," she replied, wiping away her tears. "Oh! if anything had happened, I never should have forgiven myself."
In reality, there was no blame to be attached to her; she had been guilty of no encouragement or coquetry. I could not bear that she should brood over his illness, until she accused herself as the cause, and really grew horrified at what she might fancy her own wickedness.
"He is in God's hands," I said; "either way it would have been as He willed."
"Then you do not think that any trouble—any—"
"I think he would have been sick," I replied, seeing her unable to go on; "he has not looked well for some time past, and his grandmother told me that he had always been somewhat subject to fevers."
Jessie breathed heavily, and looked relieved.
In our preoccupation we had passed from the grounds into the high-road, instead of taking the footpath.
"We must strike into the clover-field at the turn," I said, when I observed our error; "it would make too long a walk to follow the road."
Jessie did not answer. I heard the tramp of horses' hoofs, and looking up saw Mr. Lawrence riding rapidly toward us. He did not check his horse, but lifted his riding-cap, gave a low, stately bow, a quick glance at Jessie's tear-stained face, and galloped on.
I heard Jessie utter a smothered exclamation, but she did not speak a word.
"Mr. Lawrence seems in great haste," I observed, but she did not answer.
I was confident Mrs. Dennison had been besetting him again, for he was pale and looked fiercely excited.
"Here is the path," said Jessie, suddenly.
We turned into it and walked home, scarcely once breaking that unusual silence.
When we reached the house, Jessie went directly up to her room. I did not attempt to detain her, knowing that she would be much better alone.
I went to my chamber, likewise, but I was not left long to my bewildering meditations, for Lottie's quick tap sounded at the door, and in she danced in the fantastic manner which always betrayed great excitement.
She closed the door carefully, and stood before me with her hands folded behind her back.
"I told you how it would be!" she exclaimed.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Why, you're flying out at Babylon; she's mad, and you'll take the consequences, you will."
"I do not imagine they will be very terrible, Lottie."
"That's as a body may happen to think. There's been a great time since you started."
"What has happened?" I inquired, losing all scruples as to the manner in which Lottie might have obtained her information.
"In the first place, we had Lawrence—"
"Was he here?"
"No, no. Babylon went out to walk for her health—you see Babylon needs exercise. After you stole away, I had my eye on her—"
"Why, you did not see us go."
"Oh, didn't I?" she demanded, ironically, nodding her head with great significance. "I was at my window, Miss Hyde, and I always keep my eyes open. Howsumever, I wasn't watching you; I'm above such tricks, unless I feel it my duty, then I never stop at nothing—anything, I mean, thinking of the grammar."
"Did she see us, too?"
"I don't know; but she knew where you were going."
"Why, how did you find that out?"
"Heard her tell Mr. Lee, to be sure."
I was so angry that I felt myself growing pale. Lottie saw it and tittered.
"You would like to choke her, now, wouldn't you, Miss Hyde? What a pity! it's agin religion and the law. I should just enjoy fixing her myself."
"For shame!" I said, but I am afraid it was only because I thought it a duty to check such expressions, not from any lack of sympathy with them.
Lottie tossed her head; but she was in too great haste to communicate her intelligence for much indignation.
"After you'd gone I watched her; she went about very uneasy for a while, then she put on her shawl and streaked off to the grove. I wanted some wild grass, so I went along, but Babylon didn't see me. She waited in the grove till Mr. Lawrence rode by, when she hailed him.
"'Where are you going?' said she.
"He stammered a little, and said something about it being his custom to ride every morning, and at that she laughed right out in her tantalizing way. Oh, she's awful tantalizing is Babylon.
"'You'd better tell the truth,' says she; 'you didn't believe what I told you last night, and you've been to see with your own eyes. Did you meet them?'
"'Miss Jessie and her friend have just entered Mrs. Bosworth's gate,' he answered, cross as two sticks.
"'Of course,' says Babylon; 'I tell you he is her lover. It was to be expected she'd visit him during the sickness brought on by jealousy. You see a grand flirtation has its inconveniences.'
"He shook uneasily in his saddle, but she hadn't any pity, and went on at an awful rate about all of you. Then she tried the old dodge—she was his friend—he might trust her. She went up to him and reached her hand, but he didn't seem to see it.
"'I must go,' said he.
"She tried to stop him, but he wouldn't hear a word.
"'When will you come again?' she asked.
"'God knows!' was all he said, and rode off like a whirlwind.
"Babylon watched him as long as he was in sight, then she gave way to the awfullest mad fit I ever see. I really thought she'd break a blood-vessel. She danced and wrung her hands, and clenched 'em both into fists, which she shook after him, and she bit her lips to keep from screaming; and then all of a sudden she started for the house on a fierce run. I went after her, and as I got into the garden I saw Mr. Lee ride up. She followed him into the house.
"I went round the corner and stood on the veranda, picking roses and humming 'Katy Darling;' only I chose all the low parts, and heard quite comfortable."
"That was wrong," I said, "very wrong."
"Oh! I didn't listen to him," she replied; "but I had to keep watch of Babylon."
I may as well confess my weakness. I longed to ask Lottie all she heard. However, I did not have to wait long for the communication.
"'Jessie has gone out,' said she. He asked her where, and she put on such an innocent face. 'You must know,' says she; 'your daughter would not have taken such a step without your permission. No, no; I understand Jessie's womanly prudence too well.'
"He just stared at her; then he asked in that voice he has when he's angry, what she meant. She hemmed and hawed, and put him off; said he knew, and wouldn't speak.
"'Mrs. Dennison,' said he, 'what does this mean? Where has Jessie gone?'
"She put on the innocent look again; she really did it beautifully.
"'Don't you know?' she asked; 'don't you actually?'
"She worked him up almost into a fit. Goodness knows what fancy he got into his head.
"I have seen no one this morning,' he said; 'there were none of the family down when I went away. Where has Jessie gone?'
"Then she pretended to back out; she had been wrong—it was doubtless an innocent little secret of Jessie's—she ought not to have spoken—she was so frank and indiscreet—she would rather bite her tongue off than tell what Jessie wanted kept private, and all that. He grew white as death; you know nothing makes him so mad as to think there's any mystery in the house, or anything going on he don't understand.
"'Mrs. Dennison,' says he, 'if you won't speak, I must go to my wife.'
"'Don't, don't,' she said; 'she is so feeble; don't agitate her.'
"'Then tell me yourself,' says he.
"Then she went all through the old performance, but at last it came out—Jessie had gone to visit Mr. Bosworth in his sick-room. Lord, how mad he was! She told him you was with her, said she didn't blame Jessie, guessed it was all one of your old-maidish romances, and made him furious against you."
"How did it end?" I asked.
"It didn't really have no end; some man called him off on business. Just then you and Miss Jessie came up the steps, and I cut round here to tell you. Babylon—she sat down to the piano, and went to playing a jig; she likes the fun. I tell you she's all right when there's a row. But I'm going to Mrs. Lee; she must want to get up by this time. You're in a hobble, Miss Hyde—a precious hobble—was sure you would be. You playing a game with her—the idea!"
Away she danced, trying to hide her uneasiness; but at the door she stopped and exclaimed,—
"I can't think what ails my head, I'm so dizzy."
She staggered and would have fallen, but I caught her; she was deadly pale. I gave her some water, and she soon grew better.
"Are you ill?" I asked.
"No, I guess not; but lately my head feels so queer every morning. Yesterday, when I went to get out of bed, I fell flat on the floor like a great awkward lobster."
She laughed, but I was very uneasy about her, though she declared she was well again, and hurried away to her duties; for, wild as she was, Lottie was an orderly little thing, and always punctual.
I sat and thought over what she had told me, with some anxiety; but that did no good, so I went down-stairs.