CHAPTER XLV.

BAFFLED AND DEFEATED.

It seemed an eternity before Lottie came back, yet she had not been absent three minutes. She came alone, and stood by me at the door, regarding Mrs. Dennison's movements with the keen vigilance of a fox. But a glimpse of Mrs. Lee's face made her start forward with a cry of dismay.

"My mistress, she is dead! They have killed her!"

She would have fallen upon her knees by the bed, but Mrs. Dennison put her aside. It was an easy thing, for Lottie had lost all her strength in that terrible fear.

"Foolish child! she has only fainted," said Mrs. Dennison, holding her back; "the air will bring her to."

Lottie's courage returned with these words, and struggling from Mrs. Dennison's hold, she sat down upon the bed, chafing Mrs. Lee's cold hands and kissing them with loving tenderness.

"Is she really and truly alive?" said the poor girl, appealing to me.

I could not resist the wistful anxiety of that look, but came forward, holding my breath, with a dread that her fears might be true.

That moment Mr. Lee entered the room, and directly came Jessie, with a look of terror on her face. She trembled like a leaf at the sight of her mother, and turned to me, looking the question which she could not frame in speech.

"It is not death! I hope and believe that it is not death!" I said.

Jessie fell upon a chair and burst into tears.

"Hush, child!" said her father; "let us learn what has happened. Mrs. Dennison, can you tell me?"

"I hardly know myself," answered the widow, innocently. "I heard moans and a cry for help coming from this room, and, springing up from my sleep, ran to see what it meant. There was no light in the room, but I felt that Mrs. Lee was cold and still as she lies now—alive, but motionless. I had snatched a bottle from my toilet, and was bathing her head with its contents, when Miss Hyde and the servant came in. They were very much terrified, and alarmed the house, I hope unnecessarily. It is a deep fainting fit. I am sure she will come out safely in time."

As the woman said this, Lottie stood looking in her face, dumb with astonishment. She saw the red flask in Mrs. Dennison's hand, felt the changed atmosphere of the room, and, for once, her presence of mind gave way.

"Poor thing! she was half frightened to death," said Mrs. Dennison, casting a patronizing glance at the crestfallen girl, "I never saw anything so wild in my life."

"And I never saw anything so wicked!" Lottie burst forth, clinching her hands and almost shaking them at the woman.

"Wicked! Oh, not so bad as that, my good girl," said the woman, gently. "One can be frightened, you know, without being wicked."

"Yes," said Lottie, with a sob, "and a person can be wicked without being frightened, I know that well enough."

"Lottie!" exclaimed Mr. Lee.

Lottie stood for one instant like a wild animal at bay; but directly her eyes fell upon her mistress, her form relaxed, and, creeping to the bedside, she began to cry.

"Oh, bring her to! bring her to! and I won't say another word," she pleaded, looking piteously at the widow.

"I am not omnipotent, poor child!" was the sweet reply. "But see! I think there is a movement of her eyelids."

Lottie rose from her knees and looked eagerly in that worn face. "Yes, yes, she is alive; she is coming to herself. Oh, my mistress! my mistress! I will never, never leave you again. I'll sleep on the floor at the foot of your bed, like a dog, before anybody reaches you!"

Tears rained down poor Lottie's face, and her voice was so full of grief that no one had the heart to chide her, though it seemed to disturb the invalid, who was slowly recovering consciousness.

Mrs. Lee at last opened her eyes, and looked vaguely around at the people near her bed, without seeming to recognize them; when Lottie caught her vacant gaze, she burst forth,—

"Oh, ma'am, don't you know me? It's Lottie—it's Lottie!"

This pathetic cry gained no response. Those dreamy eyes wandered from face to face, with a helpless, appealing look indescribably touching. Jessie bent over her mother, striving to make herself known; but her sweet voice passed unheeded. Every kind effort failed to draw her from this dull state of half-consciousness, till Mr. Lee passed his arm under her head and drew it to his bosom. Then a thrill seemed to pass through her whole frame, a smile dawned on her pale mouth.

"Have I been ill?" she murmured, resting her head against the bosom to which he gently lifted her,—"very ill, that you all come here in the night?"

"Yes," answered Mr. Lee, very tenderly; for he seemed to forget everything in her danger. "But for our kind guest, I fear it might have gone hard with you."

Lottie, who was crouching at her mistress' feet, with her face buried in the bed-clothes, uttered a sudden, "Oh! oh! I can't bear it!" and, starting up, rushed into her room, looking at Mrs. Dennison over her shoulders like a wild cat.

"Poor Lottie!" muttered Mrs. Lee. "How it troubles her to see any one suffer! And you, my kind guest—"

The gentle lady held out her hand to Mrs. Dennison, smiling wanly, but too feeble for any other expression of gratitude.

"Mamma," said Jessie, quickly, "do not try to speak, but rest. This has been a terrible attack."

"You here, my child, and I not know it!" whispered the invalid; "forgive me."

Mrs. Dennison pressed forward; but Jessie stepped between her and the invalid, not rudely, but with quiet decision which became the daughter of that proud man.

"Aunt Matty," she said, glancing past the widow, "had you not better leave her to papa and me? So many faces excite her."

Jessie was very pale, and I saw that her lips were quivering with agitation. Something had wounded her almost beyond bearing.

"Yes," I answered, promptly, "we will withdraw;" and, looking at Mrs. Dennison steadily, I waited for her to move first.

"This may be of service," she said, sweetly, placing the ruby-tinted bottle in Jessie's hand. "I found it very useful in reviving her."

Jessie took the bottle, but set it down at once. Indeed, her hand shook so violently that it must otherwise have fallen.

"Now, Miss Hyde, I do not see that our presence will be of further use," said the widow, gliding toward the door.

I stepped back to avoid contact even with her garments. My heart was full of bitter loathing. I grew cold as she passed me, and answered her smile with a look that frightened it from her lips. We passed through Lottie's room, but I could not force myself to enter it till even her shadow had disappeared.

"I knew that she was doing something, and that Mrs. Lee was suffering by it; but what? that was the question. I tried to keep awake at nights, but it was of no use; no log ever slept as I did. Last night, you remember, I drank that strong tea. It wasn't because I liked it; but I was determined to keep awake. I wanted you to be on hand as well, and gave you a powerful dose; and wasn't you wide awake as a night-hawk when I came into your room?

"Well, I went to bed just as I always do, and lay down with my eyes shut, waiting. Babylon had gone to her room; but Cora was floating about in the passages a good while; finally she went in, and everything was still. It seemed to me as if I kept growing sharper and wider awake every minute; but I never heard that woman's step till she stood over me, and her shadow fell clear across the bed; I bit my lips to keep from screaming, but lay still and waited.

"She called my name two or three times, whispering louder each time; but I drew my breath even and deep, waiting for her. All at once that strange smell that was in the room when you came almost strangled me; but as I bit my lips harder, down came a wet cloth over my face. It almost smothered me, for she pressed it close with her hand till I felt a strange falling away, as if she had forced me over a rock, and I was myself sinking. One minute more, and I should have been nowhere; but some noise in the entry took her away.

"I snatched the cloth from my face and crept softly out of bed. The whirl and weight made me so dizzy, I could not walk, but crept on my hands and knees through the door which she had left open. Here the fresh air blew over me, and I felt steady enough to run to your room.

"You know how we found her, and how she put us down. I thought we had her, safe and sure; but here we are worse off than ever. I believe she would kill that blessed angel before his face, and no one would believe it."

I sat in silence, wondering what course it was best for me to pursue. That this woman was undermining Mrs. Lee's feeble life, by repeated applications of chloroform, I could not doubt; but how convince the family of this? It was an act so hideous in itself, that the very charge, if unbelieved, would be considered a crime. I was sure that, with the help of her maid, she had changed the bottle which contained the chloroform while struggling with me at the door; but how was I to prove this? Lottie—alas! this woman had so fascinated those who held power in the family, that her story would be of no avail without some indisputable proof to sustain it.

Jessie would believe us, I was sure; but the belief, without power to remedy a state of things so terrible that it made my heart sink, would only produce pain. What could I do? Helplessly I asked the question. Yet a terrible necessity required all my energies.

The dejection of poor Lottie had a numbing effect upon me. She, usually so full of resources, so ardent in her courage, sat on the window-seat, crestfallen and beaten like myself. One thing was certain, Lottie would keep strict guard now. Whatever the woman's motives were, the events of that night would never be repeated, so long as that faithful creature kept her place in the household. But how long would she keep that place? How long should I be left under the same roof with her?

I did not remember or care for the hours of breakfast or dinner; excitement had driven all thoughts of food from my mind. This increased my languor and made me more helpless still. Why had this beautiful woman come to torment me? What had I done to be thus virtually driven into the fields like a wild animal? I wandered off to the ridge, and sat down on the rock where I had once conversed with Mrs. Dennison. I do not know what time of the day it was; for the sun was obscured and the heavens were fleecy with black clouds. My head ached sadly; but that was nothing to the pain at my heart.

A storm came up while I sat there; but I was quite unconscious of it till my clothes were wet through, and I felt all my limbs shivering with the cold. I did not think of the consequences; it seemed so natural that I should be beaten down, that I cowered under the fierce rain like a poor flower that grew by me on the rock. The sunshine might revive that—would it ever come to me?

I remember feeling a mournful companionship with this solitary blossom, and sheltering it with a corner of my wet shawl. It was some distraction to the thoughts that harassed me to fancy the pretty thing as wretched as myself. Still I sat upon the rock, and still the rain beat down upon me. At last I heard Lottie's voice through the drifting storm, calling for me anxiously.

I arose and stood up, trembling from head to foot—the wet had chilled the very heart in my bosom.

"Why, what is this? Where have you been? What's the matter? Ain't you a fool, good and strong? Mercy! how you look—how your teeth do chatter! Now, speak out and let's know if you really are alive!" cried the kind-hearted creature, attempting to shake the wet from my shawl, but, finding that hopeless, wringing it between both hands, like a washerwoman.

"I've been with her all day; haven't left her one minute alone—not even with him. When he came, I planted myself by the bed, and there I stood like a monument. She kept asking for you."

"For me?" I faltered, smitten with compunction. "I did not think of that."

"You've given up thinking of anything, I'm afraid," said Lottie, shivering. "It wasn't just the thing to run off and leave me to bear the brunt of all their looks and questions! Not that I answered them—oh, no! but I wanted to get off and have a good cry as well as you."

"I am very sorry, Lottie."

"But that was nothing till she asked for you over and over again; then I'd 'a' given anything to have jumped up and after you. Besides, Miss Jessie was hunting up and down, wondering where you were, and Mr. Lee looked like a thunder-cloud."

"Mr. Lee?"

"Yes, Mr. Lee! But there you stand with your teeth going chatter—chatter—chatter—like a squirrel cracking hickory-nuts. Do come into the house!"

I followed her, meekly enough; she scolding and reviling, and petting me all the way as if I had been a lap-dog out of favor.

When we reached the house, it was late in the afternoon. I had eaten nothing that day, and still loathing the idea of food, felt its want in all my frame.

"Go up to your chamber, quick," said Lottie, hurrying me through the hall. "Babylon is in the drawing-room, and I wouldn't have her see you looking so like a drowned hen for nothing. Wouldn't it tickle her!"

This speech aroused me a little, and I struggled up the stairs and entered my room. Lottie followed me to the door, said something very peremptory about changing my clothes, and went away.

What possessed me, I do not know; I remember flinging off my wet shawl and shuddering, with a sense of extreme coldness, as it fell with a splash on the carpet; I remember, also, feeling how necessary it was that I should exchange my clothes for dry ones. But as I went toward the toilet, a letter lying upon it drew my attention from everything else. I had not the courage to touch it—a reptile coiled there could not have disturbed me more. So I stood looking at it in the dreary wetness of my garments, knowing what it meant, and dreading it. I took the letter up at last. It was thick and heavy; my heart sunk beneath its weight, my limbs trembled so violently, that I was obliged to sit down on the bed.

I broke the envelope. A thick paper covered with figures fell into my lap, a leaf of note-paper on which there was writing, fluttered after it.

I knew what it was. For the first time in my life Mr. Lee had sent me an account of his guardianship. Those figures, dancing in such fantastic rows before my eyes, contained an exact statement of my property, its growth, and aggregate amount. I knew this without the power to read or make an estimate. I knew also what it all meant. I had long been of age; my guardian, in that tedious combination of figures, was giving up his trust. That woman had prevailed; I was no longer welcome under Mr. Lee's roof. The paper fell from my hands. I took up the note, but only read the first few lines. They were very kind, but confirmed my fears. I could not read the note through—the whole room swam around me—a faint sickness crept to my vitals—nothing but darkness; into this I sank helplessly, and lay in its sombre depths for weeks.

Out of my head! The thought troubled me. Why? Had I anything to conceal? To question one's soul requires strength, for it is a stern task. I was very weak, and so put the subject aside. The very sight of Jessie's face had wearied me.

She sat down on the bed, and then I saw how sad and thoughtful she had become. Her very lips were pale, and her eyes were shaded by their inky lashes, which threw her whole face into mourning. Had she suffered so much because I was ill, or were other sorrows distressing her?

She held my hand in hers, clasping it tenderly. I strove to return the caress; but my poor fingers only fluttered in hers like the wings of a birdling when it first sees food. She knew that I wanted to return her love, and smiled upon me; but oh! how sad her smile was! Then I fell off into a quiet sleep.

The next day I could ask questions. How long was it? Four weeks—four weeks, in which they had been so anxious! The doctors had given me up, but she and Lottie had always hoped. It seemed as if I could not be taken from her just when she wanted me so much.

"And her mother, was all well?"

Mrs. Lee was better, stronger, and more cheerful than she had been for weeks before I was taken ill. Indeed, she had once crept to my chamber, and cried over me like a child.

"Mrs. Lee better, and more cheerful? Then why was Jessie so sad?"

The dear girl turned away her face and made no answer. Her silence cut me to the heart.

Then I remembered the letter; that sheet of paper, with its red lines, and crowded with figures, came before me with a pang, as if some one had struck me on the heart. The grief that convulsed my face frightened Jessie; she understood it and strove to reassure me.

"It is all well," she said; "never think of it again."

She might as well have asked a wounded man to forget the bullet rankling in his flesh. How much that package had hurt me, no human being could ever tell!

"Father has been very anxious about you," she said; "I never saw him suffer so much."

"What have you done with it?" I inquired.

She knew what I meant, and answered, gently,—

"I gave them back to my father—all except the letter, which I burned."

"Thank you, dear child."

There was silence awhile. I wanted to ask a question, but it made me faint. I think she would have answered that without waiting for words, only that the subject was a pain to her, as it was agony to me.

"Is she here yet?"

I knew that a whiteness was creeping over my lips as I uttered the words, and I felt a thrill of disgust pass over Jessie.

"She is here."

The bitter distress in her voice told me all that was in her heart. But it was a subject we could not speak upon.

"I have done everything in my power to send her away; but she will understand no hint, and I have no right to take decisive steps while my parents both like her so much."

"Both?" I questioned.

"Yes; I think so. Mother seemed pleased to have her in the room."

"And is she much there?" I questioned, faintly.

"Yes, very often, and for hours together."

"Alone?" I inquired, starting from my pillow and falling back from weakness.

"Seldom—never, I think. Father is generally with them, and Lottie—what a dear, faithful creature she is!—will never leave the room. If they drive her out, she is sure to retreat into her own little den and will leave the door ajar."

"Faithful, good Lottie!" I murmured.

Jessie kissed me and said, with mournful lovingness, that I must not talk, for I was all the friend she had to stand by her. She hesitated a moment and added, "Except, of course, my parents."

Obedient to her gentle command, I closed my eyes; but the anxieties that had taken flight in temporary insanity crowded back upon me, and my poor brain labored fearfully under them.

Was I right—knowing what I knew, and thinking what I thought—to keep anything back from Jessie? I had been so in the habit of mingling Mrs. Dennison's acts with those of Mr. Lee, that it seemed impossible to separate them, or speak of her without condemning him, at least by implication. I could not do this with his own child; for it was very doubtful if Jessie's entire and now very evident dislike of the woman had not sprung exclusively from the course she had taken with Lawrence. By word or look she had never given a sign of any other thought.

After pondering over these things in my mind, I remembered that, after all, Mr. Lee was not connected with anything I knew, except in my own suspicions; and even then I was not base enough to impute a wrong motive, much less a wrong act to him. Why should I fear, then, to speak openly to Jessie? While chained to that pillow—as I must be for days to come—who could guard Mrs. Lee as well as her own daughter?

While these reflections passed through my brain, Jessie had been sitting motionless on the bed, afraid to move lest she might disturb the sleep into which she fancied me to have fallen. When I opened my eyes, she smiled down upon me.

"You have been a little troubled with dreams, I fear," she said, smoothing the hair back from my temples.

"No, Jessie; I have not been asleep, but thinking. Lie down here on my pillow; I want to tell you something."

She laid her beautiful face close to mine. In a weak voice, and at intervals, I told her everything, but never once mentioning her father, even remotely. Indeed, there was no occasion; for I am certain he knew as little as the innocent girl at my side of that wicked night-work, in which our invalid had sunk so rapidly.

I never saw horror and dismay exhibit itself so forcibly on any countenance as it appeared on that lovely face. It touched mine like marble.

"What can we do?—what must we do?" she said. "Why did you not tell papa at once?"

"I had no proof—he would not have believed me."

"But your word—who ever doubted that?"

"Her word would have prevailed against mine. Oh! Jessie, Jessie, she is a terrible woman!"

"And my mother—my poor, suffering mother! What can her object be? No dove was ever more blameless than poor, dear mamma!" she said, with tender pathos. "Was she not content with what she had done against me? But I will go at once to papa and tell him everything about her."

"No," I said, trying to hold her with my feeble hand; "he will not believe you."

"Not believe me, Aunt Matty?"

"I fear not—Jessie, don't look so wounded! But he would demand your authority, and you would, of course, give me."

"Not without your permission."

"You would have it; but all might end in her triumph over us both. You remember the letter which came to me, that account of his stewardship? Ask yourself if it was the work of Mr. Lee's own heart."

"No, no, I am sure it was not!"

"Yet it came on the very next day."

"And broke your heart, dear Aunt Matty. I could not understand it. The first lines about money fastened themselves upon me I don't know how. I did not think, in my fright, when Lottie told me that you were ill, about its being a private letter; still I only read that and carried the paper back. What was in the letter I did not know; but I burned it to pacify you."

"The rest was only a kind dismissal from the house, Jessie!"

"A dismissal from the house! You—you?"

"Yes. I am only here now on sufferance," I answered, with feeble bitterness, which ended in a flood of more feeble tears.

Jessie was terribly distressed; but she made gentle efforts at soothing me, and at last I sobbed myself into quietness like a child, with my head resting on her shoulder.

"But you shall never go—never while I live," she said, with her old queenliness of manner. "I may stand by and see this woman robbing me of the love that was mine, when pride forbids me to cry out; but you, my oldest, my best friend! She must not attempt that."

Her eyes sparkled, her beautiful face took a positive expression. How I loved her!

"But about my poor mother," she said; "what can we do?"

"Wait and watch," I answered.

She was very thoughtful, and the look of distress upon her face made my heart ache.

"Lottie is honest," she said. "Now I understand why she would never leave the room even to nurse you. Good girl! she has been more faithful to my mother than her own child; but who could have known this?"

"Be dutiful!" I whispered, for this conversation had taken away my last remnant of strength.

"I will,—and watchful. Others may doubt this,—I believe it."

"You're a pretty Miss Hyde to trust a secret with, you are! What possessed you to tell that? How many cooks do you mean to have in one mess of soup? She can't keep it more than you could; and the next thing will be, you and I'll be swept out of this house like a nest of wasps. Not that I'd go, but there'd be a tussel, such as never was seen here before. Of course, you'd give in, and curl up like a caterpillar on a dry leaf; but I'll never do it while she lives and wants me. But all that don't mean that I'm going to fly in the face of Providence, and give Babylon a chance to turn me out, for it mightn't be convenient for me to get sick—not that I think your sickness isn't the genuine article, mind; I know it is, more shame to 'em, but I'm bound to be on hand with a sharp eye and close tongue. Trust Miss Jessie, indeed! Well, crazy folks will be crazy folks, any way you can fix it."

I was so weary that all this scarcely made an impression on my poor brain. But I had a vague feeling that the girl was right, and that I had acted very rashly. Indeed, I was not sure that Lottie's stout denial of that woman's work might not shake even Jessie's confidence in me. The distress and excitement of these thoughts shook my poor, quivering nerves, till I fell back into the old delirium, and after that no talking was allowed in my room for a long time.

No wonder Mr. Lee started as if he had seen a ghost, when I crept by him in the passage leading to his wife's chamber, the first time that I was permitted to move from my room. The color mounted to his face. He paused, turned back and gave me his hand, striving to smile.

I could not touch his hand, or even attempt to smile. He had wounded me too deeply for that.

"My dear Miss Hyde," he said, dropping the hand which I had no strength to touch, "no one can be more rejoiced than I am at your recovery. Pray forget everything that might make you think otherwise; it was all a misunderstanding."

I did not speak, but tears swelled into my eyes, and I turned away wounded a second time by his confused explanation.

Mrs. Lee was so overjoyed to have me with her again. She looked much better, and seemed more cheerful than I had seen her since Mrs. Dennison's advent in the family.

Mrs. Dennison came into the chamber while I was there. She recognized me with careless politeness, called my attention to the improvement in Mrs. Lee, and, in a thousand adroit ways, triumphed in showing me how completely I was crowded out from my place in the household—even in that sick-chamber, where my chief usefulness lay.

I was feeble and unduly sensitive, or this conduct would not have wounded me so keenly as it did. Spite of myself, the pain of this interview would make itself visible; so I arose and went into Lottie's room, for my strength availed no farther than that.

The young girl sat quietly in her little domicile close by the door, sewing upon some second-hand finery, but with every stitch she cast a vigilant glance into Mrs. Lee's chamber, as if such watchfulness had become a habit, of which she was herself unconscious.

Lottie was always exceedingly repugnant to permitting any one into her room; but when she saw me come toward her, looking so miserably feeble, the frown left her face, and, starting up, she arranged the pillows on her little white bed, and, sweeping back the curtains, motioned me to lie down. I fell helplessly on the pretty couch, and she drew the curtains around it, clouding me in lace.

"Do you feel like sleeping?" she whispered.

"No, Lottie, my heart aches too much for that."

"Then lie still, and keep watch while I go out. It is ten days since I have breathed the fresh air. Can I trust you?"

"Yes, Lottie."

The creature bent down and kissed me with great feeling; she too was affected by the general depression. All her wild animal spirits seemed hushed for the time.

"I didn't mean to be hard with you the other day," she whispered, "so don't mind it. Nobody thinks more of you than this child, you may believe that."

She glided out of the room, leaving the door open. Mrs. Dennison turned her head quickly as she went out, but did not seem to observe that the bed was occupied.

Mrs. Dennison drooped her eyes in delicate sympathy, and, taking a fold of the muslin dress, which fell like billows of snow over the carpet, began to plait it thoughtfully between her fingers.

"You must not think that Jessie neglects you," she said. "The confinements of a sick-room are so irksome to youth. I am sure she loves you."

"But she used to spend half her time with me. In the morning, she would bring her work or her drawing, and we had such pleasant hours in my chamber."

"Yes, but it was before she came into society; that is sure to distract the attention. Still, the dear girl must be unaware of the higher and purer happiness she sacrifices."

Mrs. Lee's face clouded, and she said, with a sad smile,—

"Well, you have not permitted me to feel this. By-and-by Jessie will get some of your thoughtfulness."

"You must not think of this, my dear friend," said the widow, caressingly. "Only remember how well you are getting. I say nothing of my own poor efforts; but surely Mr. Lee makes up for all deficiencies in our sweet Jessie."

Mrs. Lee's face brightened beautifully. "Oh, yes," she said, "he is with me so much now; you charm him this way, I think."

"Me? Oh! nothing like it. This change in yourself, dear friend, constitutes the charm. You were dropping into such dreary ways, and looked so ill in that eternal white dress; but now that you have consented to brighten it up with ribbons, and pretty French caps, the change is marvellous."

"You think so," was the sweet reply. "I dare say it is true; but Jessie always liked my dress, and she has fine taste."

"But he likes something fresher and more worldly; and one dresses for a husband."

"Yes, yes; and these things do give something bright to the toilet, though Lottie scouts them."

"Well, never mind, so long as he is pleased. We need not trouble ourselves about the opinion of a wild, crazy girl like her, or of that prudish thing, Miss Hyde."

Mrs. Lee drew her hand from the widow's caressing clasp, and sat upright in her chair.

"Oh! don't say a word against Miss Hyde," she protested, with unusual resolution. "She is the dearest, best creature."

"I know, I know," persisted the widow, drawing a quick breath. "She is everything that is good, if she only had the power to make her amiability a little more interesting, and, I may add, useful; but when any person comes into a family to attach herself particularly to one member of it, there is a possibility of her gaining too much influence. I know Miss Hyde is very deserving, but has it never struck you that your daughter's heart lies a little too exclusively with her friend?"

"No; I had not thought of that," answered Mrs. Lee.

"It was not my business, and, I dare say, there is impertinence in the observation, but when Miss Hyde was sick, your daughter scarcely left her room. I never witnessed such devoted attention."

The widow sat playing with the knots of lilac ribbon that fastened Mrs. Lee's dress, as she made the observation. I saw the poor lady's face cloud, and her lips began to quiver. She was evidently drawing the contrast between Jessie's devotion to me, and the almost total desertion of her own room. Dear lady! she had no means of knowing that the eternal presence of that woman in her chamber had drawn the most devoted daughter that ever lived from her bedside.

Mrs. Dennison went on with her crafty work, still playing with the knots of ribbon, and pausing now and then to blow them about, till they fluttered like butterflies under her concentrated breath.

"If we only had sweet Jessie entirely to ourselves now to join our pleasant morning readings, wouldn't it be charming? But that is hopeless, so long as she gives herself entirely to one person, you know."

Mrs. Lee lifted her slender hand, passing it with troubled haste repeatedly across her forehead.

"But Miss Hyde has been such a true friend, so faithful, so every way worthy and agreeable, it seems as if Jessie could not love her too much. Then she is such a favorite with Mr. Lee."

"Is she?" was the dry question which followed these remarks.

"Oh, yes! Besides, I never can forget her kindness to myself when Mr. Lee was absent. You know that my husband has a great many duties, and it is only of late that it has been in his power to stay with me so much."

"But his heart—his heart is always with you, dear friend; I noticed that from the first day of my entrance to your house. In conversation, your name is always on his lips, and it is easy to see that you are never for a moment out of his thoughts."

Mrs. Lee leaned back in her chair, and her fine eyes filled with the brightest drops that ever sprung from a loving heart.

"I ought to be more grateful," she murmured, sweetly; "the blessed Lord has been so good to me. Oh! if all this should lead me to think less of Him, and more—sinfully more of my—my family."

"But this will never be; your nature is too well regulated."

"Ah! but Mrs. Dennison, you cannot imagine—you can form no idea how I have worshipped—how I do worship my husband. From the first hour I saw him to this, when we have sunk into mid-life together, it has been one struggle to keep him from overshadowing the love of God in this heart."

A heavenly expression came over that pale face, as the noble woman spoke words that the reticence of her nature had kept back even from me, her tried friend up to that hour; and now they were poured forth to the greedy ear of that woman like an overflow of wine upon the sandvile sand, which a thousand repulsive things had trodden over.

I could scarcely keep from crying out under the pressure of disgust that seized upon me when the creature lifted her eyes to the heaven of that face. In my whole life I had never seen an expression like that—so quick, so unutterably vicious. That instant some evil idea was born in the woman's brain; I saw it clearly, as if the map of her bad heart had been laid out before me. This idea, gendered from the loving goodness of Mrs. Lee's speech, broke into her eyes as the serpent bursts the mother-egg when hot sunshine is upon it.

This expression revelled in her eyes a moment, and then crept away as if a reptile had left her eyes and coiled itself in the depths of her soul. I could detect a tone of exultation in her voice when she spoke again; but it was low still, and vibrated with strange fascination on the ear.

"And you love him so much?"

"I thought in my youth that it was impossible to love him better—that it was wrong to love any human being so much. Night and morning I prayed God to keep me clear of man-worship; but how can one pray against love to a God who is love itself? When I saw how completely my whole being gave itself to my husband, how impossible it was to weaken one throb of the joy which filled me at his approach, I gave up the struggle, and soon rendered double gratitude to the Divine Being for giving him to me. It was all I could do."

"And did he love you so much?"

With what insidious craft the question was put! How quietly the new-born serpent coiled itself in her eyes as the lashes drooped over them!

"So much? That is impossible! No man—no woman ever gave so great worship to a fellow-being! He was not even aware of it, I think; for this love was a treasure that I kept closely locked. It must have been tender questioning, indeed, that could have drawn such feelings into expression."

"But still he loved you?"

"Loved me? Oh, yes; I never doubted it, even then; but after I became so helpless, so dependent on him for my very life—for if he had failed me I must have died—the beautiful affection of his nature manifested itself. He became my support, my very being. Oh! God has been exceedingly good to me!"

"And in all this devotion, this excess of love—for so I must think it—has no distrust ever arisen between you?"

"Distrust? Who could distrust him?"

Mrs. Dennison did not seem to hear—she was musing, with her eyes on the floor. At last she murmured, vaguely,

"But jealousy is the natural growth of inordinate affection. I wonder it never sprung up between you. What if he had loved another person?"

"Loved another person, and I know it? That would have been death!"

Again the woman's eyes gleamed so brightly that I could see the flash through her thick lashes. She arose and walked hurriedly up and down the room.

Mrs. Lee looked at her wonderingly.

"You think it wrong—you condemn me, as I have condemned myself a thousand times," she said, with meek pathos.

The woman returned to her seat, smiling.

"No, no. How can one woman condemn another for a fault so angelic? I only envied you the delicacy that could deem it wrong to give one's whole being up to the first element of a woman's nature—entire love."

Mrs. Lee drew a heavy breath and lay back in her chair, smiling.

"You have seen him," she said, at last. "How grand, how magnanimous he is, never forgetting me, never feeling the solitude of this room irksome, but loving it more and more; giving me hours out of each day till, of late, he almost lives in my apartment and never finds it tiresome!"

A strange smile stole over Mrs. Dennison's lips; but she did not look up, and it passed unnoticed by its object.

As the two ladies sat together, Jessie came into the room. Mrs. Dennison did not move, but, on the contrary, leaned nearer to Mrs. Lee. Jessie paused by the door and seemed about to retire; but Mrs. Lee spoke to her, holding out a hand.

The daughter saw this and came close to her mother's chair, leaning over it; while the widow kept her place, so that every word which passed between the mother and child was subject to her vigilance. Thus the conversation was constrained, and Jessie went away with a sad look, which went to my heart.

Then Mr. Lee came into the chamber, and all was bright as sunshine again. Mrs. Dennison kept her position, and Mr. Lee bent over his wife's chair. It was a beautiful group—I have never seen three more distinguished-looking people in one tableau.

They fell into conversation, in which Mrs. Lee took her gentle part. I listened, with a strange feeling of pain, to the graceful dialogue, and ceased to wonder that the invalid had grown more cheerful under the influence of scenes like this. Perhaps my jealous thoughts invested all they said with unreal attractiveness; for jealousy, like love, creates qualities which do not exist, and I acknowledged now that the feeling which burned at my heart had many a jealous pang in it. How could this be otherwise? For years I had been the closest friend that lady possessed; and, within the hour, had I not heard a woman, who should have been a stranger, decrying me to her as if I had been a servant she wished to see discharged?

In this way I excused the bitterness that filled my heart as the cruel scene passed before me. It was hard to bear when that woman's sweet laugh came ringing through the chamber after some witty saying which brought a thousand animated expressions into the faces of the two persons I prized above all others, but from whom she had separated me.

All the morning they spent in Mrs. Lee's room. Lottie informed me afterward that this had been their habit during my sickness. Why, she could not tell, unless it was that Babylon was hoping to find another chance to finish her work.

I could not sleep that night, and for many a long night after that. The fever had left me very low and nervous; I could not bear to meet the annoyances which were sure to beset me if I went into the family, and seldom left my room. I think Mrs. Lee hardly missed me. Indeed, it is doubtful if my absence was a matter of regret to any one; for Jessie came to my room as a sort of shelter from the scenes that I had witnessed, and thus our family became more and more a pided one.

I had soon cause to regret my rashness in having opened my heart to Jessie. The dear girl was too frank and high-minded for a secret of that kind to rest safely with her. She believed all that I suspected, and with this conviction came a perfect loathing of the woman, who was now her forced guest. I saw that this subject was preying upon her, and repented keenly having given up the bitter fruit of knowledge before it was an absolute necessity; Lottie was wiser in the rude kindness of her attempt to put me down.

I did not grow strong; the harassing trouble at my heart kept me nervous and irritable. If a person entered my room suddenly, I would start and cry out; if I met any of the family in the grounds, my first impulse was to hide away, or pretend to be occupied till they passed. Lottie scolded me, not in her old way, but with a sort of tearful authority. The humor and drollery of her rare character was changed into quaint sarcasm. The serpent creeping through our house had bitten her most severely of all. To Mrs. Lee the girl was more humble and heedful than ever; to us she was abrupt.

This state of things could not continue without results. With feelings smouldering like the fire which turns wood into charcoal, this general irritation would break forth.

Jessie was the first to give way. For some time she had scarcely spoken to Mrs. Dennison, except in a grave, quiet fashion, which was as far from rudeness as it was from cordial hospitality. Sometimes this checked Mrs. Dennison's great flow of spirits, and she would take on a look of gentle martyrdom that must have had a peculiar fascination to one who did not understand her.

I do not know how it arose, for I had left the table; but one day Jessie came into the library, to which I had retreated, looking greatly excited; her eyes were full of troubled fire, and there was a stern pressure of the beautiful lips that I had never seen before. She did not speak, but walking up to the window, stood looking through it steadily, as if some beautiful landscape lay beyond, which she was examining through the gorgeous coloring, and which admitted of nothing beyond its own richness.

It was a gloomy day outside, and her face looked more sorrowfully sombre from all our surroundings.

I had arisen and was going toward her, when the door opened and Mr. Lee came in. How much the father and child looked alike at the moment! I had never seen either of them so imperial in their anger before.

Mr. Lee did not observe me, I think, but he walked across the library and laid one hand on Jessie's shoulder as she stood with her back toward him. She drew aside and looked up in her father's face.

"Jessie," he said, "what is the meaning of this? What have you been saying to wound Mrs. Dennison so terribly?"

Jessie struggled with herself; I could detect it by the blue veins that rose along her neck and forehead; but her countenance changed in nothing, and she answered his stern question steadily.

"I have done nothing that should wound Mrs. Dennison, father."

"But I left you at the breakfast-table with our guest tranquil as usual. When I came back, you were gone, and I found her in tears."

"I cannot answer for the lady's tears, father. She was shedding none when I came out of the breakfast-room."

"This is an evasion, Jessie. I insist upon knowing what passed between you and our guest after I left the room."

"You have a right to question me, father; but indeed I cannot tell you. Mrs. Dennison said something about what we should do next winter; and I looked at her a moment, in displeasure perhaps, for she has already stayed far beyond the time usual for our guests; and I am not aware that any one has extended a second invitation to her. I certainly have not."

Mr. Lee's face darkened.

"And is this what you have done?—given her one of your haughty looks, and at my table, Jessie Lee?"

"Father!"

"Do not call me father. Do not speak to me again until you have apologized to the lady for this rudeness."

Mr. Lee's voice was stern, almost cruel, as he said this. Jessie grew pale as death.

"Father, I cannot apologize for anything I have done; it is impossible when the lady entered a complaint to you—"

Mr. Lee interrupted her.

"Mrs. Dennison entered no complaint."

"Oh, father! and you were ready to condemn me without a word. When was this so before?"

"When were you rebellious before?"

Jessie's lips began to quiver.

"When did we have trouble like this? When was it that we became a pided family?" she said. "Never till I was unhappy enough to invite this lady here."

"She was your own guest, and you have treated her cruelly," said Mr. Lee, softening a little.

"No, father, not cruelly; coldly, perhaps, but not cruelly!"

"And why coldly?"

"Because I do not like Mrs. Dennison."

"And why, pray?"

"Because she comes between you and your own child—between you and your own wife—because—"

"Jessie," I said, rising from my seat, and for the first time becoming visible to Mr. Lee,—"Jessie—"

"It is well, Martha, that you are here to check her. Another word, and she would have been no longer a daughter of mine."

He was white as marble. Never in my life had I seen him so agitated.

Jessie looked at him sorrowfully. There was something more than anger in his face—a wild, troubled doubt, that made him tremble. Jessie laid her hand on his arm, and her lips quivered into a smile.

"Oh, father! listen to me. Let this lady go; take us back to your heart again; her influence here has been terrible."

He shook off her hand, drew himself up, and spoke with proud calmness,—

"Jessie, be careful, if you would not forfeit my love—at once be careful."

Jessie drew back, and leaned on my shoulder, trembling from head to foot. The idea that her father could ever really turn against her had entered her heart for the first time. She was so white that her very face terrified me.

"Speak to him," she whispered,—"speak to him."

I was about to say something, but Mr. Lee waved his hand, silencing me with a haughty gesture. Jessie stood up, and spoke in a low, sad voice,—

"Father, if I have done wrong, tell me how to atone for it, and I will obey you."

Mr. Lee turned away, walking the room three or four times before he answered. Then he took Jessie's cold hand, with some degree of returning kindness, while she stood, with downcast eyes, waiting for the humiliation his words would convey.

"Be yourself, my child; conquer your unreasonable prejudice against the lady who has been of great service to your mother, and is in every way estimable. I do not ask any unnecessary humiliation of my daughter; but be your own gracious self again, Jessie, and she will understand that you are sorry."

Jessie bent her bowed face a little lower, in token of acquiescence, and, bending his grand head, Mr. Lee kissed her. Then, turning to me, he said, with stern significance,—

"You will remember, Miss Hyde, these scenes are not to be renewed."

When he was gone, Jessie threw herself on the floor, and, folding her arms in the seat of an easy-chair, moaned piteously. She did not cry—the pain at her proud heart seemed too hot for tears. I tried to console her; but she only murmured,—

"You were right; I am not fit to be trusted with such things. They burn me like fire."

Mrs. Lee was unusually silent that day, and, without asking me to read, amused herself with a book of engravings that Mr. Lee had ordered for her from the town. I felt the change. Every day this lady, who had been my dear friend so long, seemed more and more independent of me. Lottie she still clung to, but I had become a useless waif in the household.

While thinking over these depressing truths, I watched with a vague sensation of regret. All at once I saw her stop, beat the dog back, and shade her eyes with one hand. It was only one of our people, who had been over to the town, and had attracted her observation. I saw the man beckon to her. She darted down the walk, along the sloping lawn, and over the wall, holding out her hands for a package which he held out. There was some talk between them as the man gathered up his bridle, while she examined something in her hands which seemed like a letter. Then, nodding her head repeatedly, she ran toward the house.

I cannot tell why it was, but these movements interested me greatly. A strange apprehension took possession of me, and I began to wonder what the letters could be about—if any of them related to me, and if new trouble was coming.

In the midst of these vague thoughts, Lottie came into the room, with a letter in her hands.

"I left all the rest, papers, books, and trash, on the hall-table," she cried, joyously; "but here's a letter for the dear mistress, and I brought it up. Such a nice letter—white and satiny as the leaves of a water-lily! I know there is something sweet and good in it that will make you smile."

She went up to Mrs. Lee, dropped on one knee at her feet—a common thing with the strange girl—and held up the letter between her hands.

Mrs. Lee took it, with a pink flush of the cheek. During her long illness she had gradually given up writing, and a letter, directly to herself, was an event sufficiently rare to create a little excitement. Lottie's prophecy regarding the letter brought a smile to those usually pale lips. She broke the seal, took the letter from its envelope, and murmured, pleasantly,—

"If it is something very pleasant, you shall have a new dress, Lottie."

This promise kept the girl on her knees, reading the face of her mistress with keen eagerness. She saw it change as if a flash of fire passed from neck to forehead; then a cold, gray tint settled over it so gradually, that no one could tell when it came.

Lottie sprang to her feet with a sharp cry.

Mrs. Lee had fainted—no, not that; no common fainting fit ever took a form so painful—a look of unutterable misery had settled on the face, impressive as the agony which has become immortal in the features of that marble father who strives to rescue his children from the writhing serpents in the Vatican.

Mrs. Lee had fallen sideway in her chair. The movement had been gradual, and accompanied the gray changes of her face with such stillness, that its meaning did not strike Lottie till she sprang up and uttered that cry.

We lifted the lady from her chair and laid her on the bed. She gave no sign of life, but seemed to be growing colder and colder. Lottie attempted to draw the letter from her hand, but her fingers clung to it with a tenacity which could not be forced without wounding the hand; so we left the paper in her grasp.

What we did I cannot tell. Everything that two frightened creatures could devise we attempted, in order to restore her; but it seemed to me an age before any sign of life returned.

At last a shiver passed over her, and, with her disengaged hand, she tore at the muslin over her bosom as if some pain were burning at her heart, and then I saw her poor lips redden for the first time—but it was with blood. Piteously she opened her eyes and looked into ours. She had not recovered then, nor did she remember what event had produced this illness.

I could tell when the first dawn of a recollection came upon her, for she rustled the letter in her hand as if to be sure it was there, and a reality; then the pain all came back to her features, and the blood came in heavier drops up from her broken heart.

They came back from a long ride while she lay thus. We had sent for the doctor, and sat by her in helpless grief, waiting his arrival. I went out to meet Jessie, intending to break the painful intelligence of her mother's attack to her with gentleness. She was coming up the steps with a harassed look. The weight of her skirts seemed to drag at her frail strength. Mrs. Dennison was lower down the steps, looking over her shoulder at Mr. Lee, and talking in a gay, excited manner that did not seem quite natural. Jessie looked upward, with a weary, sad glance as I came down the walk, and I saw that the company of this woman was oppressing her dreadfully.

I was so pale in those days that my countenance did not frighten Jessie as it might have done in happier times; thus I was obliged to tell her in words that something had happened to injure her mother, and that she lay in great danger in the tower-room. I shall never forget the wild agony of those eyes. She did not speak a word, but passed me like a shadow.

Mrs. Dennison's strained laugh followed her with a sound of the most cruel mockery I ever heard. It was altogether unintentional. The woman had not seen me, nor was she aware that Jessie had disappeared; she was only bantering words with her host in her usual fashion, while he was preparing to follow up the steps.

I stood upon the edge of the terrace and watched them as they came up. There was no cheerfulness in the woman. Her cheeks were hot and red, her eyes full of restless fire. She understood my countenance better than Jessie had done; for a look of something like affright swept her face, and the heavy riding-skirt dropped from her hold, entangling her feet till she stumbled and almost fell.

Mr. Lee sprang forward and saved her.

"What is the matter? What has happened?" he questioned.

She laughed nervously.

"Nothing. It was Miss Hyde standing there like a Nemesis that startled me."

Mr. Lee glanced upward, and said something in an under-tone, at which she said,—

"How unkind you are to the poor thing."

I had hesitated to tell Mr. Lee that his wife was on her death-bed—the shock at my own heart was so painful that I pitied him; but now a cruel strength came over me, and I said at once, in a cold, hard way,—

"Your wife is ill, sir, very ill—I fear dying."

He left that woman standing alone in her cowardly sin, and went swiftly, as his daughter had done, toward the tower-room. Mrs. Dennison gave a light scream and followed, demanding of me how it had happened, and who had been near to harm the dear saint.

I gave her no answer. The very sound of her voice made me shudder with fresh loathing. She had been pale for a moment, but now all the fire came into her countenance again, and she passed me haughtily, saying,—

"Stupid as ever—I will inquire for myself."