The Hand But Not the Heart

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

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It is not within the range of all minds to comprehend what was
endured. Wealth, position, beauty, admiration, enlarged
intelligence, and highly cultivated tastes, were hers. She was the
wife of a man who almost worshipped her, and who ceased not to woo
her with all the arts he knew how to practise. Impatient he became,
at times, with her impassiveness, and fretted by her coldness.
Jealous of her he was always. But he strove to win that love which,
ere his half-coercion of her into marriage, he had been warned he
did not possess--but his strivings were in vain. He was a meaner
bird, and could not mate with the eagle.

To Mrs. Dexter, this life was a breathing death. Yet with a
wonderful power of endurance and self-control, she moved along her
destined way, and none of the people she met in society--nor even
her nearest friends--had any suspicion of her real state of mind. As
a wife, her sense of honor was keen. From that virtuous poise, her
mind had neither variableness nor shadow of turning. No children
came with silken wrappings to hide and make softer the bonds that
held her to her husband in a union that only death could dissolve;
the hard, icy, galling links of the chain were ever visible, and
their trammel ever felt. Cold and desolate the elegant home
remained.

In society, Mrs. Dexter continued to hold a brilliant position. She
was courted, admired, flattered, envied--the attractive centre to
every circle of which she formed a part. Rarely to good advantage
did her husband appear, for her mind had so far outrun his in
strength and cultivation, that the contrast was seriously against
him--and he felt it as another barrier between them.

One year of pride was enough for Mr. Dexter. A beautiful, brilliant,
fashionable wife was rather a questionable article to place on
exhibition; there was danger, he saw, in the experiment. And so he
deemed it only the dictate of prudence to guard her from temptation.
An incident determined him. They were at Newport, in the mid-season;
and their intention was to remain there two weeks. They had been to
Saratoga, where the beauty and brilliancy of Mrs. Dexter drew around
her some of the most intelligent and attractive men there. All at
once her husband suggested Newport.

"I thought we had fixed on next week," said Mrs. Dexter, in reply.

"I am not well," was the answer. "The sea air will do me good."

"We will go to-morrow, then," was the unhesitating response. Not
made with interest or feeling; but promptly, as the dictate of
wifely duty.

Just half an hour previous to this brief interview, Mr. Dexter was
sitting in one of the parlors, and near him were two men, strangers,
in conversation. The utterance by one of them of his wife's name,
caused him to be on the instant all attention.

"She's charming!" was the response.

"One of the most fascinating women I have ever met! and my
observation, as you know, is not limited. She would produce a
sensation in Paris."

"Is she a young widow?"

"No--unfortunately."

"Who, or what is her husband?" was asked.

"A rich nobody, I'm told."

"Ah! He has taste."

"Taste in beautiful women, at least," was the rejoinder.

"Is he here?"

"I believe so. He would hardly trust so precious a jewel as that out
of his sight. They say he is half-maddened by jealousy."

"And with reason, probably. Weak men, with brilliant, fashionable
wives, have cause for jealousy. He's a fool to bring her right into
the very midst of temptation."

"Can't help (sic) simelf, I presume. It might not be prudent to
attempt the caging system."

A low, chuckling laugh followed. How the blood did go rushing and
seething through the veins of Leon Dexter!

"I intend to know more of her," was continued. "Where do they live?"

"In B--."

"Ah! I shall be there during the winter."

"She sees a great deal of company, I am told. Has weekly or monthly
'evenings' at which some of the most intellectual people in the city
may be found."

"Easy of access, I suppose?"

"No doubt of it."

Dexter heard no more. On the next day he started with his wife for
Newport. The journey was a silent one. They had ceased to converse
much when alone. And now there were reasons why Mr. Dexter felt
little inclination to intrude any common-places upon his wife.

They were passing into the hotel, on their arrival, when Mr. Dexter,
who happened to be looking at his wife, saw her start, flush, and
then turn pale. It was the work of an instant. His eyes followed the
direction of hers, but failed to recognize any individual among the
group of persons near them as the one who thus affected her by his
presence. He left her in one of the parlors, while he made
arrangements for rooms. In a few minutes he returned. She was
sitting as he had left her, seeming scarcely to have stirred during
his absence. Her eyes were on the floor, and when he said, "Come,
Jessie!" she started and looked up at him, in a confused way.

"Our apartments are ready; come."

He had to speak a second time before she seemed to comprehend his
meaning. She arose like one in deep thought, and moved along by her
husband's side, leaving the parlor, and going up to the rooms which
had been assigned to them. The change in her countenance and manner
was so great, that her husband could not help remarking upon it.

"Are you not well, Jessie?" he asked, as she sat down with a weary
air.

"Not very well," she answered--yet with a certain evasion of tone
that repelled inquiry.

Mr. Dexter scanned her countenance sharply. She lifted her eyes at
the moment to his face, and started slightly at the unusual meaning
she saw therein. A flush betrayed her disturbed condition; and a
succeeding pallor gave signs of unusual pain.

"Will you see a physician!"

"No--no!" she answered, quickly; "it was a momentary sickness--but
is passing off now." She arose as she said this, and commenced
laying aside her travelling garments. Mr. Dexter sat down, and
taking a newspaper from his pocket, pretended to read; but his
jealous eyes looked over the sheet, and rested with keen scrutiny on
the face of his wife whenever it happened to be turned towards him.
That she scarcely thought of his presence, was plain from the fact
that she did not once look at him. Suddenly, as if some new thought
had crossed his mind, Mr. Dexter arose, and after making some slight
changes in his dress, left the apartment and went down stairs. He
was evidently in search of some one; for he passed slowly, and with
wary eyes, along the passages, porticos and parlors. The result was
not satisfactory. He met several acquaintances, and lingered with
each in conversation; but the watchful searching eyes were never a
moment at rest.

The instant Mr. Dexter left the room, there was a change in his
wife. The half indifferent, almost listless manner gave place to one
that expressed deep struggling emotions. Her bent form became erect,
and she stood for a little while listening with her eyes upon the
door, as if in doubt whether her husband would not return. After the
lapse of two or three minutes, she walked to the door, and placing
her fingers on the key, turned it, locking herself in. This done,
she retired slowly towards a lounge by the window, nearly every
trace of excitement gone, and sitting down, was soon so entirely
absorbed in thought as scarcely to show a sign of external life.

It was half an hour from the time Mr. Dexter left his wife, when he
returned. His hand upon the lock aroused her from the waking dream
into which she had fallen. As she arose, her manner began to change,
and, ere she had reached the door, the quicker flowing blood was
restoring the color to her cheeks. She had passed through a long and
severe struggle; and woman's virtue, aided by woman's pride and
will, had conquered.

Mrs. Dexter spoke to her husband cheerfully as he came in, and met
his steady, searching look without a sign of confusion. He was at
fault. Yet not deceived.

"Are you better?" he asked.

"Much better," she replied; and turning from him, went on with the
arrangement of her toilet, which had been suspended from the period
of her husband's absence, until his return. Mr. Dexter passed into
their private parlor, adjoining the bedroom, and remained there
until his wife had finished dressing.

"Shall we go down?" he inquired, as she came in looking so beautiful
in his eyes that the very sight of her surpassing loveliness gave
him pain. The Fiend was in his heart.

"Not now," she replied "I am still fatigued with the day's travel,
and had rather not see company at present."

She glanced from the window.

"What a sublimity there is in the ocean!" she said, with an unusual
degree of interest in her manner, when speaking to her husband. "I
can never become so familiar with its grandeur and vastness, as to
look upon its face without emotion. You remember Byron's magnificent
apostrophe?--

"'Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean, roll.'"

And she repeated several of the stanzas from "Childe Harold," with
an effect that stirred her husband's feelings more profoundly than
they had ever been stirred by nature and poetry before.

"I have read and heard that splendid passage many times, but never
with the meaning and power which your voice has lent to the poet's
words," said Dexter, gazing with admiration upon his wife.

He sat down beside her, and took her hand in his. Her eyes wandered
to his face, and lingered there as if she were searching the
lineaments for a sign of something that her heart could take hold
upon and cling to. And it was even so; for she felt that she needed
strength and protection in an hour of surely coming trial. A feeble
sigh and a drooping of the eyelids attested her disappointment. And
yet as he leaned towards her she did not sit more erect, but rather
suffered her body to incline to him. He still retained her hand, and
she permitted him to toy with it, even slightly returning the
pressure he gave.

"You shall be my teacher in the love of nature." He spoke with a
glow of true feeling. "The lesson of this evening I shall never
forget. Old ocean will always wear a different aspect in my eyes."

"Nature," replied Mrs. Dexter, "is not a mere dead symbol.--It is
something more--an outbirth from loving principles--the body of a
creating soul. The sea, upon whose restless surface we are gazing,
is something more than a briny fluid, bearing ships upon its
bosom--something more than a mirror for the arching
heavens--something more than a symbol of immensity and eternity.
There is a truth in nature far deeper, more divine, and of higher
significance."

She paused, and for some moments her thoughts seemed floating away
into a world, the real things of which our coarser forms but feebly
represent.

"It must be so. I feel that it is so; yet what to you seems clear as
the sunbeams, hides itself from me in dusky shadows. But say on
Jessie. Your words are pleasant to my ears."

Mrs. Dexter seemed a little surprised at this language, for she
turned her eyes from the sea to his face, and looked at him with a
questioning gaze for some moments.

"This world is not the real world," she said, speaking earnestly and
gazing at him intently to see how far his thought reflected hers.

"Is not this real?" Dexter asked, raising the hand of his wife and
looking down upon it. "I call it a real hand."

"And I," said Mrs. Dexter, smiling, "call it only the appearance of
a hand; it is the real hand that vitalizes and gives it power. This
will decay--this appearance fade--but the real hand of my spirit
will live on, immortal in its power as the human soul of which it
makes a part."

"Into what strange labyrinths your mind is wandering Jessie!" said
Mr. Dexter, a slight shade of disapproval in his voice. "I am afraid
you are losing yourself."

"Rather say that I have been lost, and am finding myself in open
paths, with the blue sky instead of forest foliage above me."

"Your language is a myth, Jessie. I never heard of your being lost.
To me you have been ever present, walking in the sunlight, a divine
reality. Not the mere appearance of a woman; but a _real_ woman, and
my wife. Pray do not lose yourself now! Do not recede from an actual
flesh and blood existence into some world of dim philosophy whither
I cannot go. I am not ready for your translation."

Mr. Dexter was half playful, half serious. His reply disappointed
his wife. Her manner, warmer than usual, took on a portion of its
old reserve. But she went on speaking.

"The immortal soul, spiritual in its essence, yet organized in all
its minutest parts--cannot attain its full stature unless it
receives immortal food. The aliments of mere sensual life are for
the body, and the mind's lowest constituents of being; and they who
are content to feed on husks must sort with the common herd. I have
higher aspirations, my husband! I see within and above the animal
and sensuous a real world of truth and goodness, where, and where
only, the soul's immortal desires can be satisfied. With the key in
my hand shall I not enter? The common air is too thick for me. I
must perish or rise into purer atmospheres."

Mrs. Dexter paused, conscious that her husband did not appreciate
her meanings. He was listening intently, and striving apparently
after them; but to him only the things of sense were real; and he
was not able to comprehend how lasting pleasure was to flow from the
intellectual and spiritual. He did not answer, and she lapsed into
silence; all the fine enthusiasm that had filled her countenance so
full of a living beauty giving place to a cold, calm exterior. She
had hoped to quicken her husband's sluggish perceptions, and to
create in his mind an incipient love for the pure and beautiful
things after which her own mind was beginning to aspire.

In her intercourse with refined and intellectual persons, Mrs.
Dexter had made the acquaintance of a lady named Mrs. De Lisle. Her
residence was not far from Mrs. Dexter's and they met often for
pleasant and profitable conversation. In Mrs. De Lisle, Mrs. Dexter
found a woman of not only superior attainments, but one possessing
great purity of mind, and a high religious sense of duty. What
struck her in the very beginning was a new mode of weighing human
actions, and a quiet looking beneath the surface of things, and
estimating all she saw by the quality within instead of by the
appearance without. From the first, Mrs. Dexter was strongly
attracted by this lady; and it was a little remarkable that her
husband was as strongly repelled. He did not like her; and often
spoke of her sneeringly as using an unknown tongue. His wife
contended with him slightly at first in regard to Mrs. De Lisle; but
soon ceased to notice his captious remarks.

In Mrs. De Lisle, the struggling and suffering young creature had
found a true friend--not true in the sense of a weakly, sympathizing
friend, but more really true; one who could lift her soul up into
purer regions, and help it to acquire strength for duty.

There was another lady named Mrs. Anthony who had insinuated herself
into the good opinion of Mrs. Dexter, and partially, also, into her
confidence.

It does not take a quick-sighted woman long to comprehend the true
marital standing of the friend in whom she feels an interest. Both
Mrs. De Lisle and Mrs. Anthony soon discovered that no love was in
the heart of Mrs. Dexter, and that consequently, no interior
marriage existed. They saw also that Mr. Dexter was inferior,
selfish, captious at times, and kept his wife always under
surveillance, as if afraid of her constancy. The different conduct
of the ladies, touching this relation of Mrs. Dexter to her husband,
was in marked contrast. While Mrs. De Lisle never approached the
subject in a way to invite communication, Mrs. Anthony, in the most
adroit and insinuating manner, almost compelled a certain degree of
confidence--or at least admission that there was not and never could
be, any interior conjunction between herself and husband.

Mrs. Anthony was a highly intellectual and cultivated woman, with
fascinating manners, a strong will, and singularly fine
conversational powers. She usually exercised a controlling influence
over all with whom she associated. Happy it was for Mrs. Dexter that
a friend like Mrs. De Lisle came to her in the right time, and
filled her mind with right principles for her own pure instincts to
rest upon as an immovable foundation.

An hour spent in company with Mrs. Anthony always left Mrs. Dexter
in a state of disquietude, and suffering from a sense of restriction
and wrong. A feeling of alienation from her husband ever accompanied
this state, and her spirit beat itself about, striking against the
bars of conventional usage, until the bruised wings quivered with
pain. But an hour spent with Mrs. De Lisle left her in a very
different state. True thoughts were stirred, and the soul lifted
upwards into regions of light and beauty. There was no grovelling
about the earth, no fanning of selfish fires into smoky flames, no
probing of half-closed wounds until the soul writhed in a new-born
anguish--but instead, hopeful words, lessons of duty, and the
introduction of an ennobling spiritual philosophy, that gave
strength and tranquillity for the present, and promised the soul's
highest fruition in the surely coming future.

Both Mrs. De Lisle and Mrs. Anthony were at Saratoga. The
announcement of Mrs. Dexter that she was going to leave for Newport
so suddenly surprised them both, as it had been understood that she
was to remain for some time longer.

"My husband wishes to visit Newport now," was the answer of Mrs.
Dexter to the surprised exclamation of Mrs. Anthony.

"Tell him that you wish to remain here," replied Mrs. Anthony.

"He is not well, and thinks the sea air will do him good."

"Not well! I met him an hour ago, and never saw him looking better
in my life. Do you believe him?"

"Why not?" asked Mrs. Dexter.

Her friend laughed lightly, and then murmured--

"Simpleton! He's only jealous, and wants to get you away from your
admirers. Don't go."

Mrs. Dexter laughed with affected indifference, but her color rose.

"You wrong him," she said.

"Not I," was answered. "The signs are too apparent. I am a close
observer, my dear Mrs. Dexter, and know the meaning of most things
that happen to fall within the range of my observation. Your husband
is jealous. The next move will be to shut you up in your chamber,
and set a guard before the house. Now if you will take my advice,
you'll say to this unreasonable lord and master of yours, 'Please to
wait, sir, until I am ready to leave Saratoga. It doesn't suit me to
do so just now. If you need the sea, run away to Newport and get a
dash of old ocean. I require Congress water a little longer.' That's
the way to talk, my little lady. But don't for Heaven's sake begin
to humor his capricious fancies. If you do, it's all over."

Mrs. De Lisle was present, but made no remark. Mrs. Dexter parried
her friend's admonition with playful words.

"Will you come to my room when disengaged?" said the former, as she
rose to leave the parlor where they had been sitting.

"I will."

Mrs. De Lisle withdrew.

"You'll get a sermon on obedience to husbands," said Mrs. Anthony,
tossing her head and smiling a pretty, half sarcastic smile. "I've
one great objection to our friend."

"What is it?" inquired Mrs. Dexter.

"She's too proper."

"She's good," said Mrs. Dexter.

"I'll grant that; but then she's too good for me. I like a little
wickedness sometimes. It's spicy, and gives a flavor to character."

Mrs. Anthony laughed one of her musical laughs. But growing serious
in a moment, she said--

"Now, don't let her persuade you to humor that capricious husband of
yours. You are something more than an appendage to the man. God gave
you mind and heart, and created you an independent being. And a man
is nothing superior to this, that he should attempt to lord it over
his equal. I have many times watched this most cruel and exacting of
all tyrannies, and have yet to see the case where the yielding wife
could ever yield enough. Take counsel in time, my friend. Successful
resistance now, will cost but a trifling effort."

Mrs. Dexter neither accepted nor repelled the advice; but her
countenance showed that the remarks of Mrs. Anthony gave no very
pleasant hue to her thoughts.

"Excuse me," she said rising, "I must see Mrs. De Lisle."

Mrs. Anthony raised her finger, and gave Mrs. Dexter a warning look,
as she uttered the words--

"Don't forget."

"I won't," was answered.

Mrs. De Lisle received her with a serious countenance.

"You go to Newport in the morning?" she spoke, half-questioning and
half in doubt.

"Yes."

The countenance of Mrs. De Lisle brightened.

"I thought," she said, after a pause, "that I knew you."

She stopped, as if in doubt whether to go on.

Mrs. Dexter looked into her face a moment.

"You understand me?" Mrs. De Lisle added.

"I do."

Mrs. Dexter betrayed unusual emotion.

"Forgive me," said her friend, "if I have ventured on too sacred
ground. You know how deeply I am interested in you."

Tears filled the eyes of Mrs. Dexter; her lips quivered; every
muscle of her face betrayed an inward struggle.

"Dear friend!" Mrs. De Lisle reached out her hands, and Mrs. Dexter
leaned forward against her, hiding her face upon her breast. And now
strong spasms thrilled her frame; and in weakness she wept--wept a
long, long time. Nature had her way. But emotion spent itself, and a
deep calm followed.

"Dear, patient, much-enduring, true-hearted friend!"

Mrs. De Lisle spoke almost in a whisper, her lips, close to the ear
of Mrs. Dexter. The words, or at least some of them, had the effect
to rouse the latter from her half lethargic condition. Lifting her
face from the bosom of her friend, she looked up and said--

Patient? Much enduring?

"Is it not so? God give you wisdom, hope, triumph! I have looked
into your heart many times, Mrs. Dexter. Not curiously, not as a
study, not to see how well you could hide from common eyes its
hidden anguish, but in deep and loving compassion, and with a strong
desire to help and counsel. Will you admit me to a more sacred
friendship?"

"Oh, yes! Gladly! Thankfully!" replied Mrs. Dexter. "How many, many
times have I desired to open my heart to you; but dared not. Now, if
you have its secret, gained by no purposed act of mine, I will
accept the aid and counsel."

"You do not love," said Mrs. De Lisle--not in strong, emphatic
utterance--not even calmly--but in a low, almost reluctant voice.

"I am capable of the deepest love," was answered.

"I know it."

"What then?" Mrs. Dexter spoke with some eagerness.

"You are a wife."

"I am," with coldness.

By your own consent?"

"It was extorted. But no matter. I accepted my present relation; and
I mean to abide the contract. Oh, my friend! you know not the pain I
feel in thus speaking, even to you. This is a subject over which I
drew the veil of what I thought to be eternal silence. You have
pushed it aside--not roughly, not with idle curiosity, but as a
loving friend and counsellor. And now if you can impart strength or
comfort, do so; for both are needed."

"The language of Mrs. Anthony pained me," said Mrs. De Lisle.

"Not more than it pained me," was the simple answer.

"And yet, Mrs. Dexter, though I observed you closely, I did not see
the indignant flush on your face, that I had hoped to see mantling
there."

"It was a simple schooling of the exterior. I felt that she was
venturing on improper ground; but I did not care to let my real
sentiments appear. Mrs. Anthony lacks delicacy in some things."

"Her remarks I regarded as an outrage. But seriously, Mrs. Dexter,
is your husband so much inclined to jealousy?"

"I am afraid so."

"Do you think his purpose to leave Saratoga in the morning, springs
from this cause?"

"I am not aware of any circumstance that should give rise to sudden
apprehension in his mind. There is no one that I have remarked as
offering me particular attentions. I am here, and cannot help the
fact that gentlemen of superior taste, education, and high mental
accomplishments, seem pleased with my society. I like to meet such
persons--I enjoy the intercourse of mind with mind. It is the only
compensating life I have. In it I forget for a little while my
heart's desolation. In all that it is possible for me to be true to
my husband, I am true; and I pray always that God will give me
strength to endure even unto the end. His fears wrong me! There is
not one of the scores of attractive men who crowd around me in
public, who has the power, by look, or word, or action, to stir my
heart with even the lightest throb of tender feeling. I have locked
the door, and the key is hidden."

Mrs. De Lisle did not answer, for some time.

"Your high sense of honor, pure heart, and womanly perceptions, are
guiding you right, I see!" she then remarked; "the ordeal is
terrible, but you will pass through unscathed."

"I trust so!" was murmured in a sad voice; "I trust to keep my
garments unspotted. Without blame, or suspicion of wrong, I cannot
hope to move onward in my difficult way. Nor can I always hope to be
patient under captious treatment, and intimations of unfaithfulness.
The last will doubtless come; for when the fiend jealousy has
enthroned itself in a man's heart, the most common-place actions may
be construed into guilty concessions. All this will be deeply
humiliating; and I know myself well enough to apprehend occasional
indignant reactions, or cool defiances. I possess a high, proud
spirit, which, if fairly aroused, is certain to lead me into
stubborn resistance. So far I have managed to hold this spirit in
abeyance; but if matters progress as they have begun, the climax of
endurance will ere long be reached."

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