The Hand But Not the Heart

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

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"Will you leave me, aunt?" said Jessie, after a long silence. Her
tones were sad. "I am very much excited. All this has unnerved me. I
would like to be alone again."

"Better come down into the sitting-room," replied Mrs. Loring.

"No, aunt. You must let me have my way."

"Willful, and like your mother," said Mrs. Loring, as she arose.

"Was my mother willful?" inquired Jessie, looking at her aunt.

"Sometimes."

"Was she happy?"

"No. I do not think she ever understood or rightly appreciated your
father. But, I should not have said this. She was a beautiful,
fascinating young creature, as I remember her, and your father was
crazy to get her. But I don't think they were very happy together.
Where the blame lay I never knew for certain, and I will make no
suggestions now."

"They were uncongenial in their tastes, perhaps," said Jessie.

"Dear knows what the reason was! But she died young, poor thing! and
your father was in a sad way about it. I thought, of course, he
would marry again. But he did not--living a widower until his
death."

"Is my mother's picture very much like her, Aunt Phoebe?"

"Very like her; but not so handsome."

"She was beautiful?"

"Oh, yes; and the reigning belle before her marriage."

Jessie questioned no farther. Her aunt's recollections of her mother
were all too external to satisfy the yearnings of her heart towards
that mother. Often had she sat gazing upon the picture which
represented to her eyes the form and face of a parent she had never
seen; and sought to comprehend some of the meanings in the blue orbs
that looked down upon her so calmly. But ever had she turned away
with vague, unquiet, restless feelings.

"If my mother had lived!" she would sometimes say to herself, "she
could comprehend me. Into her ears I could speak words that now
sleep on my lips in perpetual silence.

"Oh, if my mother were alive!" sobbed the unhappy girl, as the door
closed on the retiring form of wordly-minded Aunt Phoebe. "If my
mother were only alive!

"Affianced!" she said a little while after, as thought went back to
the interview between herself and Mrs. Loring which had just closed.
"Affianced! Yes, that was the word. 'He regards you as affianced,
and so do I!' How completely has this web invested me! Is there no
way of escape?" A slight shudder went through her frame. "Ah, well,
well!"--low and mournfully--"It may be that my woman's ideal has
been too exalted, and above the standard of real men. Mr. Dexter is
handsome; kind-hearted enough, no doubt; moderately well cultivated;
rich, elegant in manner, though a little too demonstrative; and,
most to be considered, loves me--or, at least, declares himself my
lover. That he is sincere I cannot doubt. His was not the role of a
skillful actor, but living expression. I ought to be flattered if
not won by the homage he pays me."

Then she sat down, and began looking into her heart again, her keen
vision penetrating to its farthest recesses. A long fluttering sigh
breathed at length through her lips, and starting up she said,

"I am weak and foolish! Life is a reality; not a cycle of dreamy
romance. All poetry lies in the dim distance--a thing of memory or
anticipation--the present is invariably prose. How these vague
ideals do haunt the mind! Love! Love! I had imagined something
deeper, purer, holier than anything stirring in my heart for Leon
Dexter! Was I deceived? Is the poet's song but jingling rhyme?--a
play of words in trancing measure? Let me bind back into quietude
these wildly leaping impulses, and clip the wings of these girlish
fancies. They lead not the soul to happiness in a world like ours."

Again her form drooped, and again she sat for a long period so lost
in the mazes of her own thoughts, that time and place receded alike
from her consciousness. Not until dinner-time did she join her aunt.
Her cousins had returned from school, and she met them as usual at
the table. Her exterior was carefully controlled, so that the only
change visible was a slight pallor and a graver aspect. Mrs. Loring
scrutinized her countenance closely. This she bore without a sign of
embarrassment. She partook but lightly of food. After the meal
closed she retired to her own room, once more to torture her brain
in a fruitless effort to solve this great problem of her life.

CHAPTER V.

WHEN Paul Hendrickson left the house of Mrs. Loring, his mind was in
a state of painful excitement. The inopportune appearance of Dexter
had so annoyed him, that he had found it impossible to assume the
easy, cheerful air of a visitor. He was conscious, therefore, of
having shown himself in the eyes of Miss Loring to very poor
advantage. Her manner at parting had, however, reassured him. As
they stood for a moment in the vestibule he saw her in a new light.
The aspect of her countenance was changed, the eyes, that fell
beneath his earnest gaze, burned with a softened light, and he read
there a volume of tender interest at a single glance.

"I shall be pleased to see you again, Mr. Hendrickson." There was
more than a parting compliment in her tones as she said these words.
"I have never thought you stupid." What pleasure he derived from
repeating these sentences over and over again! Early in the evening
he called upon his friend Mrs. Denison.

"I have come to talk with you again about Miss Loring," said he. "I
can't get her out of my thoughts. Her presence haunts me like a
destiny."

Mrs. Denison smiled as she answered a little playfully:

"A genuine case of love; the infection taken at first sight. Isn't
it so, Paul?"

"That I love this girl, in spite of myself, is, I fear, a solemn
fact," said the young man, with an expression of face that did not
indicate a very agreeable self-consciousness.

"Fear? In spite of yourself? A solemn fact? What a contradiction you
are, Paul!" said Mrs. Denison.

"A man in love is an enigma. I have often heard it remarked, and I
now perceive the saying to be true. I am an enigma. Yes, I love this
girl in spite of myself; and the fact is a solemn one. Why? Because
I have too good reason for believing that she does not love me in
return. And yet, even while I say this, tones and words of hers,
heard only to-day, come sighing to my ears, giving to every
heart-beat a quicker impulse."

"Ah! Then you have seen Miss Loring to-day?"

"Yes," answered Hendrickson, in a quick, and suddenly excited
manner. "I called upon her this morning, and while I sat in the
parlor awaiting her appearance, who should intrude himself but that
fellow Dexter. I felt like annihilating him. The look I gave him he
will remember."

"That was bad taste, Paul," said Mrs. Denison.

"I know it. But his appearance was so untimely; and then, I had not
forgotten last evening. The fellow has a world of assurance; and he
carries it off with such an air--such a self-possession and easy
grace! You cannot disturb the dead level of his self-esteem. To have
him intruding at such a time, was more than I could bear. It
completely unsettled me. Of course, when Miss Loring appeared, I was
constrained, cold, embarrassed, distant--everything that was
repulsive; while Dexter was as bland as a June morning--full of
graceful compliments--attractive--winning. When I attempted some
frozen speech, I could see a change in Miss Loring's manner, as if
she had suddenly approached an iceberg; but, as often, Dexter would
melt the ice away by one of his sunny smiles, and her face would
grow radiant again."

"You exaggerate," said Mrs. Denison.

"The case admits of no exaggeration. I was too keenly alive to my
own position; and saw only what was."

"The medium was distorted. Excited feelings are the eyes' magnifying
glasses."

"It may be so." There was a modification in Hendrickson's manner. "I
was excited. How could I help being so?"

"There existed no cause for it, Paul. Mr. Dexter had an equal right
with yourself to visit Miss Loring."

"True."

"And an equal right to choose his own time."

"I will not deny it."

"Therefore, there was no reason in the abstract, why his
complimentary call upon the lady should create in your mind
unpleasant feelings towards the man. You had no more right to
complain of his presence there, than he had to complain of yours."

"I confess it."

"There is one thing," pursued Mrs. Denison, "in which you disappoint
me, Paul. You seem to lack a manly confidence in yourself. You are
as good as Leon Dexter--aye, a better, truer man in every sense of
the word--a man to please a woman at all worth pleasing, far better
than he. And yet you permit him to elbow you aside, as it were, and
to thrust you into a false position, if not into obscurity. If Miss
Loring is the woman God has created for you, in the name of all that
is holy, do not let another man usurp your rights. Do not let one
like Dexter bear her off to gild a heartless home. Remember that
Jessie is young, inexperienced, and unskilled in the ways of the
world. She is not schooled in the lore of love; cannot understand
all its signs; and, above all, can no more look into your heart,
than you can look into hers. How is she to know that you love her,
if you stand coldly--I might say cynically--observant at a far
distance. Paul! Paul! Women are not won in this way, as many a man
has found to his sorrow, and as you will find in the present case,
unless you act with more self-confidence and decision. Go to Miss
Loring then, and show her, by signs not to be mistaken, that she has
found favor in your eyes. Give her a chance to show you what her
real feelings are; and my word for it, you will not find her as
indifferent as you fear. If you gain any encouragement, make farther
advances; and let her comprehend fully that you are an admirer. She
will not play you false. Don't fear for a moment. She is above
guile."

Mrs. Denison ceased. Her words had inspired Hendrickson with new
feelings.

"As I parted from her to-day," he remarked, "she said, 'I shall be
pleased to see you again.' I I felt that there was meaning in the
words beyond a graceful speech. 'Not if I show myself as stupid as I
have been this morning,' was my answer. Very quickly, and with some
earnestness, she returned: 'I have never thought you stupid, Mr.
Hendrickson.'"

"Well? And what then? Did you compliment her in return; or say
something to fill her ears with music and make her heart tremble?
You could have asked no better opportunity for giving the parting
word that lingers longest and is oftenest conned over. What did you
say to that, Paul?"

"I blundered out some meaningless things, and left her abruptly,"
said Hendrickson, with an impatient sweep of his hand. "I felt that
her eyes were upon me, but had not the courage to lift my own and
read their revelation."

"Too bad! Too bad! The old adage is true always--'Faint heart never
won fair lady'--and if you are not a little braver at heart, my
young friend, you will lose this fair lady, whose hand may be had
for the asking. So, I pray you, be warned in time. Go to her this
very evening. You will probably find her alone. Dexter will hardly
call twice in the same day; so you will be free from his intrusion.
Let her see by tone, look, manner, word, that she has charmed your
fancy. Show yourself an admirer. Then act as the signs indicate."

"I will," replied Hendrickson, speaking with enthusiasm.

"Go and heaven speed you! I have no fear as to the issue. But, Paul,
let me warn you to repress your too sensitive feelings. Your
conduct, heretofore, has not been such as to give Miss Loring any
opportunity to judge of your real sentiments towards her. Your
manner has been distant or constrained. She does not, therefore,
understand you; and if her heart is really interested, she will be
under constraint when she meets you to-night. Don't mind this. Be
open, frank, at ease yourself. Keep your thoughts clear, and let not
a pulse beat quicker than now."

"That last injunction goes too far, my good friend; for my heart
gives a bound the moment my eyes rest upon her. So you see that mine
is a desperate case."

"The more need of skill and coolness. A blunder may prove fatal."

Mr. Hendrickson rose, saying,

"Time passes. A good work were well done quickly. I will not linger
when minutes are so precious."

"God speed you!" whispered Mrs. Denison, as they parted, a few
minutes later at the door.

CHAPTER VI.

IT was an hour from the time Mr. Hendrickson left the house of Mrs.
Denison before he found himself in one of Mrs. Loring's parlors. He
had been home, where a caller detained him.

Full ten minutes elapsed after his entrance, ere Jessie's light
tread was heard on the stairs. She came down slowly, and as she
entered the room, Hendrickson was struck with the singular
expression of her face. At the first glance he scarcely recognized
her.

"Are you not well, Miss Loring?" he asked, stepping forward to meet
her.

His manner was warm, and his tones full of sympathy.

She smiled faintly as she answered--

"Not very well. I have a blinding headache."

Still holding the hand she had extended to him in meeting, Mr.
Hendrickson led her to a sofa, and sat down by her side. He would
have retained the hand, but she gently withdrew it, though not in a
way that involved repulsion.

"I am sorry for your indisposition," he said, in a tone of interest
so unusual for him, that Miss Loring lifted her eyes, which had
fallen to the carpet, and looked at him half shyly--half
interrogatingly.

"If you had sent me word that you were not well, Miss Loring"--

He paused, gazing very earnestly upon her face, into which
crimsoning blushes began to come.

"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Hendrickson. I did not wish to be
excused," she answered, and then, as if she had been led to utter
more than maidenly modesty approved, averted her face suddenly, and
seemed confused. There followed a moment or two of silence; when her
visitor said, leaning close to her, and speaking in a low,
penetrating, steady voice--

"Your reply, Miss Loring, is an admission of more than I had
expected--not more than I had hoped."

He saw her start, as if she had touched an electric wire. But her
face remained averted.

"Miss Loring"--

Warmer words were on his lips, hut he hesitated to give them
utterance. There was a pause. Motionless sat the young maiden, her
face still partly turned away. Suddenly, and with an almost wild
impulse, Hendrickson caught her hand, and raising it to his lips,
said--

"I cannot hold back the words a moment longer, dear Miss Loring!
From the hour I first looked into your face, I felt that we were
made for each other; and now"--

But ere he could finish the sentence, Jessie had flung his hand away
and started to her feet.

"Miss Loring!"

He was on his feet also. For some moments they stood gazing at each
other. The countenance of Miss Loring was of an ashen hue; her lips,
almost as pallid as her cheeks, stood arching apart, and her eyes
had the stare of one frightened by some fearful apparition.

"Miss Loring! pardon my folly! Your language made me bold to utter
what had else slept in my heart eternally silent. Forget this hour!"

"Never! Never!" and she struck her hands together wildly. Her voice
had in it a wail of suffering that sent a thrill to the heart of
Paul Hendrickson.

Then recollecting herself, she struggled for the mastery over her
feelings. He saw the struggle, and awaited the result. A brief
interval sufficed to restore a degree of self-possession.

"I have nothing then to hope?" said the young man. His tones were
evenly balanced.

"Too late! Too late!" she answered, in a hoarse voice. "The cup is
dashed to pieces at my feet, and the precious wine spilled!"

"Oh, speak not thus! Recall the words!" exclaimed Hendrickson,
reaching out his hands towards her.

But she moved back a pace or (sic) too repeating the sentence--

"Too late! Too late!"

"It is never too late!" urged the now almost desperate lover,
advancing towards the maiden.

But retreating from him she answered in a warning voice--

"Touch me not! I am already pledged to another!"

"Impossible! Oh, light of my life!"

"Sir! tempt me not!" she said interrupting him, "I have said it was
too late! And now leave me. Go seek another to walk beside you in
life's pleasant ways. Our paths diverge here."

"I will not believe it, Miss Loring! This is only a terrible dream!"
exclaimed Hendrickson.

"A dream?" Jessie seemed clutching at the garments of some departing
hope. "A dream!" She glanced around in a bewildered manner.
"No--no--no." Almost despairingly the words came from her lips. "It
is no dream, Paul Hendrickson! but a stern reality. And now,"
speaking quickly and with energy, "in Heaven's name leave me!"

"Not yet--not yet," said the young man, reaching for his hands and
trying to take one of hers; but she put both of her hands behind her
and stepped back several paces.

"Spare me the pain of a harsh word, Mr. Hendrickson. I have
said--leave me!"

Her voice had acquired firmness.

"Oh, no! Smite me not with an unkind word," said Hendrickson. "I
would not have that added to the heavy burden I seem doomed to bear.
But ere I go, I would fain have more light, even if it should make
the surrounding darkness black as pall."

His impassioned manner was gone.

"I am calm," he added, "calm as you are now, Miss Loring. The
billows have fallen to the level plain under the pressure of this
sudden storm. You have told me it was _too late_. You have said,
'leave me!' I believe you, and I will go. But, may I ask one
question?"

"Speak, Mr. Hendrickson; but beware how you speak."

"Had I spoken as now this morning, would you have answered: 'Too
late?'"

He was looking intently upon her face. She did not reply
immediately, but seemed pondering. Hendrickson repeated the
question.

"I have said that it was _now_ too late." Miss Loring raised her
eyes and looked steadily upon him. "Go sir, and let this hour and
this interview pass from your memory. If you are wise, you will
forget it. Be just to me, sir. If I have betrayed the existence of
any feeling towards you warmer than respect, it has been under
sudden and strong temptation. As a man of honor, you must keep the
secret inviolate."

There was not a sign of girlish weakness about the calm speaker. Her
small head was erect; her slight body drawn to its full height; her
measured tones betrayed not a ripple of feeling.

"I am affianced, and know my duty," she added. "Know it, and will
perform it to the letter. And now, sir, spare me from this moment.
And when we meet again, as meet no doubt we shall, let it be as
friends--no more."

The pressure of despair was on the heart of Paul Hendrickson. He was
not able to rally himself. He could not retain the calm exterior a
little while before assumed.

"We part, then," he said, speaking in a broken voice--"part--and,
ever after, a great gulf must lie between us! I go at your bidding,"
and he moved towards the door. "Farewell, Miss Loring." He extended
his hand; she took it, and they stood looking into each other's
eyes.

"God bless you, and keep you spotless as the angels!" he added,
suddenly raising her hand to his lips, and kissing it with wild
fervor. In the next moment the bewildered girl was alone.

CHAPTER VII.

THE visit of Hendrickson was an hour too late, Dexter had already
been there, and pressed his suit to a formal issue. The bold suitor
had carried off the prize, while the timid one yet hesitated. Jessie
went back to her room, after her interview with Paul Hendrickson, in
spiritual stature no longer a half developed girl, but a full woman
grown. The girl's strength would no longer have sustained her. Only
the woman's soul, strong in principle and strong to endure, could
bear up now. And the woman's soul shuddered in the conflict of
passions that came like furies to destroy her--shuddered and bent,
and writhed like some strong forest-tree in the maddening whirl of a
tempest. But there was no faltering of purpose. She had passed her
word--had made a solemn life-compact, and, she resolved to die, but
not to waver.

The question as to whether she were right or wrong, it is not for us
here to decide. We but record the fact. Few women after such a
discovery would have ventured to move on a step farther. But Jessie
was not an ordinary woman. She possessed a high sense of personal
honor; and looked upon any pledge as a sacred obligation. Having
consented to become the wife of Leon Dexter, she saw but one right
course, and that was to perform, as best she could, her part of the
contract.

How envied she was! Many wondered that Dexter should have turned
aside for a portionless girl, when he might have led a jewelled
bride to the altar. But though superficial, he had taste and
discrimination enough to see that Jessie Loring was superior to all
the maidens whom it had been his fortune to meet. And so, without
pausing to look deeply into her heart, or take note of its peculiar
aspirations and impulses, he boldly pressed forward resolved to win.
And he did win; and in winning, thought, like many another foolish
man, that to win the loveliest, was to secure the highest happiness.
Fatal error! Doubly fatal!

It is impossible for any woman to pass through an ordeal like the
one that was testing the quality of Jessie Loring, and not show
signs of the inward strife. It is in no way surprising, therefore,
that, in her exterior, a marked change soon became visible. There
was a certain dignity and reserve, verging, at times, on coldness,
not seen prior to her (sic) engagment--and a quiet suppression of
familiarity, even with her most intimate friends. The same marked
change was visible in her intercourse with Mr. Dexter. She did not
meet him with that kind of repulsion which is equivalent to pushing
back with the hand. She accepted his loving ardor of speech and act;
but passively. There was no responsive warmth.

At first Mr. Dexter was puzzled, and his ardent feelings chilled. He
loved, admired, almost worshipped the beautiful girl from whom
consent had been extorted, and her quiet, cold manner, troubled his
sorely. Glimpses of the real truth dawned into his mind. He let his
thoughts go back, and went over again, in retrospection, every
particular of their intercourse--dwelling minutely upon her words,
looks, manner and emotions at the time he first pressed his suit
upon her. The result was far from satisfactory. She had not met his
advances as he had hoped; but rather fled from him--and he had
gained her only by pursuit. Her ascent had not come warmly from her
heart, but burdened with a sigh. Mr. Dexter felt that though she was
his, she had not been fairly won. The conviction troubled him.

"I will release her," he said, in a sudden glow of generous
enthusiasm. But Mr. Dexter had not the nobility for such a step. He
was too selfish a man to relinquish the prize.

"I will woo and win her still." This was to him a more satisfactory
conclusion. But he had won all of her in his power to gain. Her
heart was to him a sealed book. He could not unclasp the volume, nor
read a single page.

Earnestly at times did Jessie strive to appear attractive in the
eyes of her betrothed--to meet his ardor with returning warmth. But
the effort was accompanied with so much pain, that suffering was
unable to withdraw wholly beneath a veil of smiles.

The wordy, restless pleasure evinced by Mrs. Loring, was
particularly annoying to Jessie; so much so that any allusion by her
aunt to the approaching marriage, was almost certain to cloud her
brow. And yet so gratified was this worldly-minded woman, at the
good fortune of her niece in securing so (sic) brillant an alliance,
that it seemed as if, for a time, she could talk of nothing else.

Mr. Dexter urged an early marriage, while Jessie named a period
nearly a year in advance; but, as she could give no valid reason for
delaying their happiness so long, the time was shortened to four
months. As the day approached, the pressure on the heart of Miss
Loring grew heavier.

"Oh, if I could die!" How many times in the silence of night and in
the loneliness of her chamber did her lips give forth this
utterance.

But the striving spirit could not lay down its burden thus.

Not once, since the exciting interview we have described, had Paul
and Jessie met. At places of fashionable amusement she was a
constant attendant in company with Dexter, who was proud of her
beauty. But though her eyes searched everywhere in the crowded
audiences, in no instance did she recognize the face of Hendrickson.
In festive companies, where he had been a constant attendant, she
missed his presence. Often she heard him inquired after, yet only
once did the answer convey any intelligence. It was at an evening
party. "Where is Mr. Hendrickson? It is a long time since I have
seen him," she heard a lady say. Partly turning she recognized Mrs.
Denison as the person addressed. The answer was in so low a tone
that her ear did not make it out, though she listened with suspended
breath.

"Ah! I'm sorry," responded the other. "What is the cause?"

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