The Hand But Not the Heart

T >> T.S. Arthur >> The Hand But Not the Heart

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"You are surely beside yourself, Jessie!" exclaimed Mr. Dexter.

She turned her face away, and made no response.

Dexter was frightened. "Could it be possible," he asked himself,
"that his wife really purposed a separation?" The fact loomed up
before his imagination with all of its appalling consequences.

A full half hour passed, without a word more from the lips of
either. Then Mr. Dexter quietly retired from the room. He had no
sooner done this, than Mrs. Dexter arose from the bed, and commenced
making changes in her dress. Her face was very white, and her
movements unsteady, like the movements of a person just arisen from
an exhausting sickness. There was some appearance of hurry and
agitation in her manner.

About an hour later, and just as twilight had given place to
darkness, Mrs. Loring who was sitting with her daughters, lifted her
eyes from the work in her hands, and leaned her head in a listening
attitude. The door bell had rung, and a servant was moving along the
passage. A moment of suspense, and then light steps were heard and
the rustling of a woman's garments.

"Jessie!" exclaimed Mrs. Loring, as Mrs. Dexter entered the
sitting-room." She was enveloped in a warm cloak, with a hood drawn
over her head. As she pushed the latter from her partly hidden face,
her aunt saw a wildness about her eyes, that suggested, in
connection with this unheralded visit of the feeble invalid, the
idea of mental derangement. Starting forward, and almost encircling
her with her arms, she said--

"My dear child! what is the meaning of this visit? Where is Mr.
Dexter? Did he come with you?"

"I am cold," she answered, with a shiver. "The air is piercing." And
she turned towards the grate, spreading her hands to the genial
warmth.

"Did Mr. Dexter come with you?" Mrs. Loring repeated the question.

"No; I came alone," was the quietly spoken answer.

"You did not walk?"

"Yes."

"Why, Jessie! You imprudent child! Does Mr. Dexter know of this?"

There was no reply to this question.

"Aunt Phoebe," said Mrs. Dexter, turning from the fire, "can I see
you alone?"

"Certainly, dear," and placing an arm around her, Mrs. Loring went
with her niece from the room.

"You have frightened me, child," said the aunt, as soon as they were
alone. "What has happened? Why have you come at this untimely hour,
and with such an imprudent exposure of your health?"

"_I have come home, Aunt Phoebe_!" Mrs. Dexter stood and looked
steadily into the face of her aunt.

"Home, Jessie?" Mrs. Loring was bewildered.

"I have no other home in the wide world, Aunt Phoebe." The sadness
of Jessie's low, steady voice, went deep down into the worldly heart
of Mrs. Loring.

"Child! child! What _do_ you mean?" exclaimed the astonished woman.

"Simply, that I have come back to you again--to die, I trust, and
that right early!"

"Where is Mr. Dexter? What has happened? Oh, Jessie! speak plainly!"
said Mrs. Loring, much agitated.

"I have left Mr. Dexter, Aunt Phoebe." She yet spoke in a calm
voice. "And shall not return to him. If you will let me have that
little chamber again, which I used to call my own, I will bless you
for the sanctuary, and hide myself in it from the world. I do not
think I shall burden you a long time, Aunt Phoebe. I am passing
through conflicts and enduring pains that are too severe for me.
Feeble nature is fast giving way. The time will not be long, dear
aunt!"

"Sit down, child! There! Sit down." And Mrs. Loring led her niece to
a chair. "This is a serious business, Jessie," she added, in a
troubled voice. "I am bewildered by your strange language. What does
it mean? Speak to me plainly. I am afraid you are dreaming."

"I wish it were a dream, aunt. But no--all is fearfully real. For
causes of which I cannot now speak, I have separated myself from Mr.
Dexter, and shall never live with him again. Our ways have parted,
and forever."

"Jessie! Jessie! What madness! Are you beside yourself? Is this a
step to be taken without a word of consultation with friends?"

Mrs. Loring, as soon as her mind began clearly to comprehend what
her niece had done, grew strongly excited. Mrs. Dexter did not
reply, but let her eyes fall to the floor, and remained silent. She
had no defence to make at any human tribunal.

"Why have you done this, Jessie?" demanded her aunt.

"Forgive my reply, Aunt Phoebe; I can make no other now. _The reason
is with God and my own heart._ He can look deeper than any human
eyes have power to see; and comprehend more than I can put in words.
My cause is with Him. If my burdens are too heavy, He will not turn
from me because I fall fainting by the way."

"Jessie, what is the meaning of this?" Mrs. Loring spoke in a
suddenly changed voice, and coming close to her niece, looked
earnestly into her face. "Here is a bad bruise on your right cheek,
and another on the temple just above. And the skin is inflamed
around the edges of these bruises, showing them to be recent. How
came this, Jessie?"

"Bruises? Are you certain?"

"Why, yes, child! and bad ones, too."

Mrs. Dexter looked surprised. She raised her hand to her cheek and
temple, and pressing slightly, was conscious of pain.

"I believe I fainted in the parlor this afternoon," she said; "I
must have fallen to the floor."

"Fainted! From what cause?" asked Mrs. Loring.

Mrs. Dexter was silent.

"Was it from sudden illness?"

"Yes."

Mrs. Loring was not satisfied with this brief answer. Imagination
suggested some personal outrage.

"Was Mr. Dexter in the parlor when you fainted?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why did he not save you from falling?"

"I am very cold, aunt; and my head turns. Let me lie down." Mrs.
Dexter made an effort to rise. As Mrs. Loring caught her arms, she
felt them shiver. Quickly leading her to the bed, she laid her in
among the warm blankets; but external warmth could not subdue the
nervous chill that shook her frame in every part.

"The doctor must be sent for," said Mrs. Loring--and she was about
leaving the bedside.

"No, no, aunt!" Mrs. Dexter caught her hand, and held her back. "I
want no physician--only quiet and seclusion. Have my own little room
prepared for me, and let me go there to-night."

Mrs. Loring sat down undecided, and in great perplexity of mind.

"Listen!" Some one had rung the door-bell violently.

"Aunt!" Mrs. Dexter started up and laid her hand on the arm of Mrs.
Loring. "If that is Mr. Dexter, remember that I positively refuse to
meet him. I am ill, as you can see; and I warn you that the
agitation of a forced interview may cost me my life."

"If it is Mr. Dexter, what shall I say? Hark! Yes! It is his step,
and his voice."

"Say that I cannot be seen, and that I have left him forever."

"But, Jessie"--

"Aunt Loring, remonstrance is vain! I have not taken this step
without a deep consciousness of being right; and no power on earth
can lead me to retrace it. Let him comprehend that, in its plain
significance; the sooner he does so the better will it be for both."

"Mr. Dexter wishes to see you," said a servant, coming to the door.

"Say that I will be down in a moment."

Mrs. Loring stood for some time, endeavoring to collect her thoughts
and calm her feelings. She then went down to the parlor.

CHAPTER XIX.

"Is Jessie here?" inquired Mr. Dexter, in a hurried manner.

"She is," replied Mrs. Loring.

"I wish to see her."

"Sit down, Mr. Dexter. I want to speak with you about Jessie."

Mr. Dexter sat down, though with signs of impatience.

"What is the meaning of this? What has happened, Mr. Dexter?"

"Only a slight misunderstanding. Jessie is over sensitive. But I
must see her immediately; and alone, if you please, Mrs. Loring."

"I am sorry, Mr. Dexter, but Jessie will not see you."

"Not see me!"

"No, Sir."

"Go and say that I am here, and that I must see her, if only for a
single moment."

"She knows you are here, Mr. Dexter; and her message is--'Say that I
cannot seen.'"

"Where is she?" Mr. Dexter moved towards the door; but Mrs. Loring,
who had taken it into her head that personal abuse--a blow,
perhaps--was the cause of Jessie's flight from the residence of her
husband--(she could understand and be properly indignant at such an
outrage), stepping before him said--

"Don't forget, sir, that this is my house! You cannot pass into any
of its apartments unless I give permission. And such permission is
now withheld. My niece is in no condition for exciting interviews.
There has been enough of that for one day, I should think."

"What do you mean? What has she said?" demanded Mr. Dexter, looking
almost fiercely at Mrs. Loring.

"Nothing!" was replied. "She refuses to answer my questions. But I
see that her mind is greatly agitated, while her person bears
evidence of cruel treatment."

"Mrs. Loring!" Dexter understood her meaning, and instantly grew
calm. "Evidences of cruel treatment!"

"Yes, sir! Her cheek and temple are discolored from a recent bruise.
How came this?"

"She fainted, and struck herself in falling."

"In your presence?"

"Yes."

"And you did not put forth a hand to save her!"

Mrs. Loring's foregone conclusions were running away with her.

"Excuse me madam," said Mr. Dexter, coldly, "you are going beyond
the record. I am not here at the confessional, but to see my wife.
Pray, do do not interpose needless obstacles."

There was enough of contempt in the tones of Mr. Dexter to wound the
pride and fire the self-love of Mrs. Loring; and enough of angry
excitement about him, to give her a new impression of his character.

"You cannot see Jessie to-night," she answered firmly. "She has
flown back to me in wild affright--the mere wreck of what she was,
poor child! when I gave her into your keeping--and the inviolable
sanctity of my house is around her. I much fear, Leon Dexter, that
you have proved recreant to your trust--that you have not loved,
protected, and cherished that delicate flower. The sweetness of her
life is gone?"

The woman of the world had (sic) actally warmed into sentiment.

"It is I who have suffered wrong," said Mr. Dexter. "Sit down, Mrs.
Loring, and hear me. If I cannot see my wife--if she willfully
persists in the step she has taken--then will I clear my skirts.
You, at least, if not the world, must know the truth. Sit down,
madam, and listen."

They moved back from the door, and crossing the parlor, sat down
together on a sofa.

"What is wrong?" asked Mrs. Loring, the manner and words of Mr.
Dexter filling her mind with vague fear.

"Much," was answered.

"Say on."

"Your niece, I have reason to believe, is not true to me," said
Dexter.

"Sir!" Astonishment and indignation blended in the tone of Mrs.
Loring's voice.

"I happened to come upon her unawares to-day, taking her in the very
act of encouraging the attentions of a man whose presence and
detected intimacy with her, at Newport, were the causes of her
illness there."

"It is false!"

Both Dexter and Mrs. Loring started to their feet.

There stood Jessie, just within the door at the lower end of the
parlor, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes bright with indignation.

"It is false, sir!" she repeated, in strong, clear tones.

Mr. Dexter, after the first moment of bewildering surprise, advanced
towards his wife.

"It is false--false as the evil spirit who suggested a thought of
your wife's dishonor!"

Saying this, Mrs. Dexter turned and glided away. Her husband made a
motion to follow, but Mrs. Loring laid her hand upon his arm.

"Light breaks into my mind," she said. "It was because you charged
her with dishonorable intent that she fled from you? A man should be
well fortified with proofs before he ventures so far. _I_ will
believe nothing against her, except on the clearest evidence. Can
you adduce it?"

There was a homely force in this mode of presenting the subject that
had the effect to open the eyes of Dexter a little to the unpleasant
aspect of his position. What proof had he of his wife's
infidelity--and yet he had gone so far as to say that he had reason
to believe her not true to him, and that she had been detected in
questionable intimacy with some one at Newport!

"Can you adduce the evidence, Mr. Dexter?" repeated Mrs. Loring.

"I may have been hasty," he said, moving back into the room. "My
words may have signified too much. But she has been imprudent."

"It is not true, sir!"

The voice of Jessie startled them again. She stood almost on the
spot from which they had turned a moment before.

"It is not true, sir!" she repeated her words. "Not true, in any
degree! All is but the ghost of a jealous fancy! And now, sir,
beware how you attempt to connect my name with evil reports or
surmises! I may be stung into demanding of you the proof, and in
another place than this! Never, even in thought, have I dishonored
you. That is a lower deep into which my nature can never fall; and
you should have known me well enough to have had faith. Alas that it
was not so!"

She passed from her husband's presence again, seeming almost to
vanish where she stood.

"What is to be done?" said Mr. Dexter, turning towards Mrs. Loring,
with a certain shame-facedness, that showed his own perception of
the aspect in which his hasty conduct had placed him.

"It is impossible to answer that question now," replied Mrs. Loring.
"These muddy waters must have time to run clear. As for Jessie, it
is plain that she needs seclusion, and freedom from all causes of
excitement. That you have wronged her deeply by your suspicions, I
have not the shadow of a doubt--how deeply, conceding her innocence,
you can say better than I."

"You will not encourage her in maintaining towards me her present
attitude, Mrs. Loring?"

"Not if I see any hope of reconciliation. But I must know more of
your lives during the past few months. I fear that you have wholly
misunderstood your wife, and so alienated her that oblivion of the
past is hopeless."

"Think of the exposure and disgrace," said Mr. Dexter.

"I do think of it; and the thought sickens me."

"You will surely advise her to return."

"I can promise nothing sir. Wait--wait--wait. I have no other advice
to offer. My poor child has passed through fearful trials--that is
plain; and she must have time for body and mind to recover
themselves. Oh, sir! how could you, knowing her feeble condition,
bear down upon her so heavily as you did this day. Your words must
have fallen like heavy blows; for it seems that they struck her down
senseless. A second attack of brain fever, should it unfortunately
follow this agitation, will certainly prove fatal."

Dexter was silent.

"We must keep our own counsel for the present," he said, at length.
"The public should know nothing of all this."

"In that we are agreed," answered Mrs. Loring. "My advice to you is,
to leave Jessie, for the time being at least, to her own will.
Serious prostration of all her faculties, I cannot but fear as a
consequence. To-morrow, she will in all probability need her
physician's care."

"How will you account for her condition, should his attendance be
deemed necessary?"

Mrs. Loring shook her head.

"Events," she answered, "are too recent, and my mind too much
bewildered to say what course I may deem it the wisest policy to
pursue. I must await the occasion, and govern myself accordingly."

"Be very prudent, madam," said Mr. Dexter. "A single error may wreck
everything."

"Her reputation is as dear to me as my own," replied Mrs. Loring,
"and you may be very sure, that I will guard it as a most precious
thing. The warning as to circumspection I pass to you."

Mr. Dexter made a movement to retire.

"I will see you in the morning," he said, "and in the meantime,
account for Jessie's absence, by saying that she paid you a visit,
going out imprudently, and found herself too much indisposed to
return."

Mrs. Loring merely inclined her head. A little while Dexter stood
looking at her, embarrassment and trouble written on every feature.
Then bowing coldly, he retired.

CHAPTER XX.

WHEN Mrs. Loring went back to her chamber, after Mr. Dexter withdrew
from the house, she found Jessie in bed, lying as still as if
asleep. She looked up when her aunt came to the bedside--at first
with stealthy, half-timid glances--then with more of trust, that
changed into loving confidence. Mrs. Loring bent down and kissed
her.

"Oh, Aunt Phoebe! that was very cruel in him."

"What was cruel, dear?"

The thoughts of Mrs. Loring went farther back than to the interview
in her parlor.

"He tried to ruin me even in your regard."

"But he failed, Jessie. I will not believe the lowest whisper of an
evil report against you."

"I am as pure in thought and as true in purpose, Aunt Phoebe, as
when I went out from you. I do not love Mr. Dexter--I never loved
him. Still that is no crime--only a necessity. He understood this in
the beginning, and took the risk of happiness--so did I. But he was
not satisfied with all that I could give. He wanted a heart, as well
as a hand--a living, loving spirit, as well as a body. These he
could not possess in me--for the heart loves not by compulsion. Then
jealousy was born in his soul, and suspicion followed. Both were
groundless. I felt a degrading sense of wrong; and at times, a
spirit of rebellion. But I never gave place to a wandering
thought--never gave occasion for wrong construction of my conduct.
Ah, Aunt Phoebe! that marriage was a sad mistake. A union unblessed
by love, is the commencement of a wretched life. It is the old
story; and never loses its tragic interest. It was folly in the
beginning, and it is madness now."

Mrs. Loring would have questioned her niece closely as to the
meaning of Mr. Dexter's allusion to a certain individual as having
been too intimate with his wife, but these closing remarks fell like
rebuke upon her ears. She remembered how almost like a victim-lamb,
Jessie had been led up to the marriage altar; and how she had
overruled all objections, and appealing to her honor, had almost
constrained her into the fulfillment of a promise that should never
have been extorted. And so she remained silent.

"I knew it must come to this sooner or later," Jessie went on; "I
knew that a time must arrive when the only alternative for me would
be death or separation. The separation has taken place sooner than I
had dared to hope; and for the act, I do not hold myself
responsible. He flung me off! To a spirit like mine, his language
was a strong repulsion; and I swept away from him with a force it
would have been vain to resist. We are apart now, and apart
forever."

"You are too much excited, Jessie," said Mrs. Loring, laying her
finger upon the lips of her niece, "and I must enjoin silence and
rest. I have faith in you. I will be your friend, though all the
world pass coldly on in scorn."

Tears glistened in the eyes of Mrs. Dexter as she lifted them, with
a thankful expression, to the face of her aunt, from whom she had
not dared to hope for so tender a reception. She knew Mrs. Loring to
be worldly-minded; she knew her to be a woman of not over delicate
feelings; and as one easily affected by appearances. That she would
blame, denounce, threaten, she had no doubt. A thought of approval,
sympathy, aid or comfort in this fearful trial had not stirred in
her imagination. This unlooked for kindness on the part of her aunt
touched her deeply.

The fact was, Mr. Dexter had gone a step too far. The grossness of
this outrage upon his wife, Mrs. Loring could appreciate, and it was
just of the kind to arouse all her womanly indignation. A more
refined act of cruelty she would not have understood; and might have
adjudged her niece as capricious.

"Thank you, dear Aunt Phoebe, for this love and kindness!" Jessie
could not help saying. "I need it; and, for all I have been as a
wife, am worthy to receive it. As pure in thought and act as when I
parted from you do I return; and now all I ask is to become again
the occupant of that little chamber I once called my own; there to
hide myself from all eyes--there to remain, forgotten by the gay
circles in which I moved for a brief season."

"Dear heart! will you not be quiet?" said Mrs. Loring; laying her
fingers once more upon her lips.

Mrs. Dexter sighed as her lashes drooped upon her cheeks. Very still
she lay after this, and as her aunt stood looking upon her white,
shrunken face and hollow eyes, and noted the purple stain on her
cheek and temple, tears of compassion filled her eyes, and tender
pity softened all her feelings.

That night Jessie slept in her aunt's room. Morning found her in a
calmer state, and with less prostration of body than Mrs. Loring had
feared would ensue. She did not rise until late, but met her cousins
while yet in bed, with a quiet warmth of manner that placed both
them and herself at ease with one another, They bad been frightened
witnesses of the exciting scenes in the parlor, when Mrs. Dexter
twice confronted her husband and met his intimations of wrong with
indignant denial. Beyond this their mother had informed them that
their cousin had left her home and might not again return to it. For
the present she enjoined silence as to what had occurred; and
reserve or evasion of questions should curious inquirers approach
them at school or elsewhere.

Before Jessie had arisen, Mr. Dexter called. He looked worn and
troubled. It was plain that his night had been sleepless.

"How is she?" he asked of Mrs. Loring, almost fearfully, as if
dreading the answer. He did not pronounce the name of his wife.

"Better than I had hoped," was replied.

"Has she required the attention of a physician?"

"No."

Mr. Dexter seemed relieved.

"What is her state of mind?"

"She is more tranquil than I had expected to find her."

Mrs. Loring's manner was cold.

"Have you conversed with her this morning?"

"But little."

"Will she see me?"

"I think not."

"Will you ask her?"

"Not now. She is too weak to bear a recurrence of agitating scenes."

Mr. Dexter bit his lips firmly as if striving with his feelings.

"When can I see her?"

"That question I am unable now to answer, Mr. Dexter. But my own
opinion is that it will be better for you to see her to-morrow than
to-day: better next week than to-morrow. You must give time for
calmness and reflection."

"She is my wife!" exclaimed Mr. Dexter, not able to control himself.
The manner in which this was said conveyed clearly his thought to
Mrs. Loring, and she replied with equal feeling--

"But not your slave to command!"

"Madam! I warn you not to enter into this league against me--not to
become a party in this wicked scheme! If you do, then you must bear
the consequences of such blind folly. I am not the man to submit
tamely. I will not submit."

"You are simply beating the air," replied Mrs. Loring. "There is no
league against you--no wicked scheme--nothing beyond your own
excited imagination; and I warn you, in turn, not to proceed one
step further in this direction."

"Madam! can I see my wife?" The attitude of Mr. Dexter was
threatening.

"No, sir. Not now," was the firmly spoken answer.

He turned to go.

"Mr. Dexter."

"Well? Say on."

"I do not wish you to call here again."

"Madam! my wife is harboring here."

"I will give my servant orders not to admit you!" said Mrs. Loring,
outraged by this remark.

For an instant Dexter looked as if he would destroy her, were it in
his power, by a single glance; then turning away he left the house,
muttering impotent threats.

And so the breach grew wider.

"I don't wonder that Jessie could not live with him," said Mrs.
Loring to herself. "Such a temper! Dear heart! Who can tell how much
she may have suffered?"

CHAPTER XXI.

ONCE more Jessie found herself alone in the little chamber where her
gentle girlish life, had strengthened towards womanhood. Many times
had she visited this chamber since her marriage, going to it as to
some pilgrim-shrine, but never with the feelings that now crowded
upon her heart. She had returned as a dove, to the ark from the wild
waste of waters, wing-weary, faint, frightened--fluttering into this
holy place, conscious of safety. She was not to go out again.
Blessed thought! How it warmed the life-blood in her heart, and sent
the currents in more genial streams through every vein.

But alas! memory could not die. Lethe was only a fable of the olden
times. A place of safety is not always a place of freedom from pain.
It could not be so in this instance. Yet, for a time, like the
exhausted prisoner borne back from torture to his cell, the crushed
members reposed in delicious insensibility. The hard pallet was a
heaven of ease to the iron rack on which the quivering flesh had
been torn, and the joints wrenched, until nature cried out in agony.

Dear little room! Though its walls were narrow, and its furniture
simple even to meagreness, it was a palace in her regard to the
luxurious chambers she had left. It was all her own. She need not
veil her heart there. No semblances were required. No intrusion
feared. It seemed to her, for a time, as if she had been so lifted
out of the world, as to be no longer a part of it. The hum and shock
of men were far below her. She had neither part nor lot in common
humanity.

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