The Hand But Not the Heart

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

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"Great circumspection on your part will be needed," said Mrs. De
Lisle. "Remember always, your obligations as a wife. In consenting
to enter into the most solemn human compact that is ever made, you
assumed a position that gave you power over the happiness of
another. If, as I gather from some things you have said, you went to
the altar under constraint, an unloving bride, so much the more
binding on you are the promises then made to seek your husband's
happiness--even at the sacrifice of your own. In that act you
wronged him--wronged him as no woman has a right to wrong any man,
and you can never do enough by way of reparation."

"I was wronged," said Mrs. Dexter, her glance brightening, and a
warmth, like indignation, in her voice; "for I was dragged to that
marriage-altar against my will, and almost under protest. Mr. Dexter
knew that my heart was not his."

"You were a free woman!" replied Mrs. De Lisle.

"I was not free," Mrs. Dexter answered.

"Not free? Who or what constrained you to such an act?"

"My honor. In a moment of weakness, and under the fascination of a
strong masculine will, I plighted faith with Mr. Dexter. He knew at
the time that I did not love him as a woman should love the man she
consents to marry. He knew that he was extorting an unwilling
consent. And just so far he took an unmanly advantage of a weak
young girl. But the contract once made, truth and honor required its
fulfillment. At least, so said my aunt, to whom alone I confided my
secret; and so said my stern convictions of duty."

"So far from that," replied Mrs. De Lisle, "truth and honor required
its non-fulfillment; for neither in truth nor in honor, could you
take the marriage vows."

The directness with which Mrs. De Lisle stated this position of the
case, startled her auditor.

"Is it not so?" was calmly asked. "You are too much in the habit of
looking below the surface of things, to regard the formula of
marriage as an unmeaning array of words. In their full
signification, you could not utter the sentences you were required
to speak--how then, as regarding truth and honor, could you
pronounce them in that act of your life which, of all others, should
have been most without guile? I would have torn all such extorted
promises into a thousand tatters, and scattered them to the winds!
The dishonor of breaking them were nothing to the wrong of
fulfillment. Witness your unhappy lives!"

"Would to heaven you had been the friend of my girlhood!"

It was all the reply Mrs. Dexter made, as she bowed her head, like
one pressed down by a heavy burden.

"You will now comprehend, more clearly than before," said Mrs. De
Lisle, "your present duty to your husband. He thought that he was
gaining a wife, and you, in wedding him promised to him to be a
wife--promised with a deep conviction in your soul that the words
were empty utterances. The case is a sad one, viewed in any aspect;
but pardon me for saying, that you were most to blame. He was an
ardent lover, whom you had fascinated; a man of superficial
character, and not competent, at the time, to weigh the consequences
of an act he was so eager to precipitate. To possess, he imagined
was to enjoy. But you were better versed in the heart's lore, and
knew he would wake up, ere many moons had passed, to the sad
discovery that what he had wooed as substance was only a cheating
shadow. And he is waking up. Every day he is becoming more and more
clearly convinced that you do not love him, and can never be to him
the wife he had fondly hoped to gain. Have you not laid upon
yourself a binding obligation? Is it a light thing so to mar the
whole life of man? Your duty is plain, Mrs. Dexter. Yield all to him
you can, and put on towards him always the sunniest aspects and
gentlest semblances of your character. If he is capricious, humor
him; if suspicious, act with all promptness in removing suspicion to
the extent of your power. Make soft the links of the chain that
binds you together, with downy coverings. Truth, honor, duty,
religion, all require this."

"Dear friend!" said Mrs. Dexter, grasping the hand of Mrs. De Lisle,
"you have lifted me out of a thick atmosphere, through which my eyes
saw everything in an uncertain light, up into a clear seeing region.
Yes, truth, honor, duty, religion, all speak to my convictions; and
with all the truth that in me lieth, will I obey their voice. But
love is impossible, and its semblance in me is so faint that my
husband cannot see the likeness. There lies the difficulty. He wants
a fond, tender, loving wife--a pet and a plaything. These he can
never find in me; for, Heaven help me! Mrs. De Lisle, his sphere
grows more and more repulsive every day, and I shudder sometimes at
the thought of unmitigated disgust!"

"Do your best, my friend," was the answer of of Mrs. De Lisle.
"Fill, to the utmost of your ability, all your wifely relations, and
seek to develop in your husband those higher qualities of thought
and feeling to which your spirit can attach itself. And above all,
do not listen to such erroneous counsels as Mrs. Anthony gave just
now. If followed they will surely produce a harvest of misery."

"Thanks, good counsellor! I will heed your words. They come in the
right time, and strengthen my better purposes," said Mrs. Dexter.
"To-morrow I shall leave with my husband for Newport, and he shall
see in me no signs of reluctance. Nor do I care, except to leave
your company. I will find as much to keep my thoughts busy at
Newport as here."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE effort to interest her husband in things purely intellectual
failed, and a shade of disappointment settled on the feelings of
Mrs. Dexter. She soared, altogether, too far up into the mental
atmosphere for him. He thought her ideal and transcendental; and she
felt that only the sensual principles in his mind were living and
active. Conversation died between them, and both relapsed into that
abstracted silence--musing on one side and moody on the other--which
filled so large a portion of their time when together.

"Shall we go down to the parlors?" said Mr. Dexter, rousing himself.
"The afternoon is running away fast towards evening."

"I am more fatigued than usual," was answered, "and do not care to
make my appearance before tea-time. You go down; and I will occupy
myself with a book. When the tea-bell rings, I will wait for you to
come and escort me to the table."

Mr. Dexter did not urge his wife to leave their rooms, but went down
as she had suggested. The moment he left her, there occurred a great
change in her whole appearance. She was sitting on a lounge by the
window. Instead of rising to get a book, or seeking for any external
means of passing a solitary hour, she shrunk down in her seat,
letting her eyes droop gradually to the floor. At first, her
countenance was disturbed; but its aspect changed to one of deep
abstraction. And thus she sat for nearly an hour. The opening of her
room door startled her into a life of external (sic) conciousness.
Her husband entered. She glanced at his face, and saw that something
had occurred to ruffle his feelings. He looked at her strangely for
some moments, as if searching for expected meanings in her
countenance.

"Are you not well?" Mrs. Dexter asked.

"Oh, yes, I'm well enough," he answered with unusual abruptness of
manner.

She said no more, and he commenced pacing the floor of their small
parlor backwards and forwards with restless footsteps.

Once, without moving her head or body, Mrs. Dexter stole a glance
towards her husband; she encountered his eyes turning stealthily
upon her, and scanning her face with an earnest scrutiny. A moment
their eyes lingered, mutually spell-bound, and then the glances were
mutually withdrawn. Mr. Dexter continued his nervous perambulations,
and his wife remained seated and silent.

The ringing of the bell announced tea. Mr. Dexter paused, and Mrs.
Dexter, rising without remark, took his arm, and they went down to
the dining-hall, neither of them speaking a word. On taking her
place at the table, Mrs. Dexter's eyes ran quickly up and down the
lines of faces opposite.

This was done with so slight a movement of the head, that her
husband, who was on the alert, did not detect the rapid observation.
For some three or four minutes the guests came filing in, and all
the while Mrs. Dexter kept glancing from face to face. She did not
move her head or seem interested in the people around her; but her
eyes told a very different story. Twice the waiter asked if she
would take tea or coffee, before she noticed him, and her answer,
"Coffee," apprised her watchful husband of the fact that she was
more than usually lost in thought.

"Not coffee?" Mr. Dexter bent to his wife's ear.

"No, black tea," she said, quickly, partly turning to the waiter. "I
was not thinking," she added, speaking to her husband. At the moment
Mrs. Dexter turned towards the waiter, she leaned forward, over the
table, and gave a rapid glance down at the row of faces on that
side; and in replying to her husband, she managed to do the same
thing for the other end of the table. No change in her countenance
attested the fact that her search for some desired or expected
personage had been successful. The half emptied cup of tea, and
merely broken piece of toast lying on her plate, showed plainly
enough that either indisposition or mental disturbance, had deprived
her of appetite.

From the tea table they went to one of the parlors. Only a few
gentlemen and ladies were there, most of the guests preferring a
stroll out of doors, or an evening drive.

"Shall we ride? It is early yet, and the full moon will rise as the
sun goes down."

"I have ridden enough to day," Mrs. Dexter answered. "Fatigue has
made me nervous. But don't let that prevent your taking a drive."

"I shall not enjoy it unless you are with me," said Mr. Dexter.

"Then I will go." Mrs. Dexter did not speak fretfully, nor in the
martyr tone we often hear, but in a voice of unexpected
cheerfulness. "Order the carriage," she added, as she rose; "I will
get my bonnet and shawl, and join you here by the time it is at the
door."

"No--no, Jessie! Not if you are so fatigued. I had forgotten our
journey to-day," interposed Mr. Dexter.

"A ride in the bracing salt air will do me good, perhaps. I am, at
least, disposed to make the trial. So order the carriage, and I will
be with you in a moment."

Mrs. Dexter spoke with a suddenly outflashing animation, and then
left her husband to make preparations for accompanying him in the
drive. She had passed through the parlor door on to one of the long
porticoes of the building, and was moving rapidly, when, just before
reaching the end, where another door communicated with a stairway,
she suddenly stood still, face to face with a man who had stepped
from that door out upon the portico.

"Jess--Mrs. Dexter!" the man checked the unguarded utterance of her
familiar Christian name, and gave the other designation.

"Mr. Hendrickson!"

Only for an instant did Mrs. Dexter betray herself; but in that
instant her heart was read, as if a blaze of lightning had flashed
over one of its pages, long hidden away in darkness, and revealed
the writing thereon in letters of gleaming fire.

"You arrived to day?" Mr. Hendrickson also regained the even balance
of mind which had momentarily been lost, and regained it as quickly
as the lady. He spoke with the pleased air of an
acquaintance--nothing more.

"This afternoon," replied Mrs. Dexter in a quiet tone, and with a
smile in which no casual observer could have seen anything deeper
than pleasant recognition.

"How long will you remain?"

"It is not certain; perhaps until the season closes."

Mrs. Dexter made a motion to pass on. Mr. Hendrickson raised his hat
and bowed very respectfully; and thus the sudden interview ended.

Mr. Dexter had followed his wife to the door of the parlor, and
stood looking at her as she retired along the portico. This meeting
with Hendrickson was therefore in full view. A sudden paleness
overspread his countenance; and from his convulsed lips there fell a
bitter imprecation.

On reaching her apartments, Mrs. Dexter was so weak that she was
forced to sit down upon the first chair she could obtain. A dead
pallor was in her face.

"Oh, give me strength--self control--motives to duty!"--in weakness
and fear her quivering heart cried upwards.

"Jessie!" How long she had been sitting thus Mrs. Dexter knew not.
She started. It was the voice of her husband.

"Not ready yet, I see!" His tones were rough--his manner excited.
"And the carriage has stood at the door for ten minutes."

"I am ready!" she answered, starting up, and lifting her bonnet from
the bed.

"It is no matter now. The sun is setting, and I have ordered the
carriage back to the stable. You only consented to go on my account;
and I am impatient under mere acquiescence."

"You wrong me, Mr. Dexter," said his wife, with (sic) unusal
earnestness of manner. "I am ready to go with you at all times; and
I strive in all things to give you pleasure. Did I hesitate a moment
when you suddenly declared your wish to leave Saratoga for Newport?"

"No, of course you did not; for you were too glad of the opportunity
to get here." There was a strange gleam in the eyes of Mr. Dexter as
he said this; and his voice had in it an angry bitterness never
before observed.

"What do you mean, sir?" demanded the outraged wife, turning upon
her husband abruptly, and showing an aspect so stern and fierce,
that the astonished man retreated a pace or two as if in fear. Never
before had he seen in that beautiful face the reflection of a spirit
so wildly disturbed by passion.

"Speak out, Leon Dexter! What do you mean?"

And her eyes rested on his with a glance as steady as an eagle's.

"I saw your meeting a little while ago."

Mr. Dexter rallied a little.

"What meeting?" There was no betraying sign in Mrs. Dexter's face,
nor the least faltering in her tones.

"Your meeting with _him_."

"With whom? Speak out plainly, sir! I am in no mood for trifling,
and in no condition for solving riddles."

"With Paul Hendrickson." Dexter pronounced the name slowly, and with
all the meaning emphasis he could throw into his voice.

"Well, sir, what of that?" Still neither eye nor voice faltered.

"Much! You see that I understand you!"

"I see that you do not understand me," was firmly answered. "And
now, sir, will you suffer me to demand an explanation of your
language just now. I want no evasion--no faltering--no holding back.
'Too glad of an opportunity to get here!' That was the sentence. Its
meaning, sir?"

The small head of Mrs. Dexter was erect; her nostrils distended; her
lips closely laid upon each other; her eyes full fixed and almost
fiery in their intense light. Suddenly she was transformed in the
eyes of her husband from a yielding, gentle, though cold woman into
the very spirit of accusation and defiance. He was silent; for he
saw that he had gone too far.

"That must be explained, sir!" She was not to be turned aside. "I
have noted your capricious conduct; your singular glances at times;
your strange moodiness without apparent cause. A little light has
given a faint impression of their meaning. But I must have the full
blaze of your thoughts. Nothing else will satisfy me now."

She paused. Mr. Dexter had indeed gone a step too far, a fact of
which he was painfully aware. He had conjured up a spirit that it
might not be easy to lay.

"You are too excited. Calm yourself," he said.

Turning from her husband, Mrs. Dexter crossed the room, and seating
herself upon a sofa, said, in a quiet way--

"Sit down beside me, Mr. Dexter. I am calm. Sit down and speak; for
your recent language must be explained. Evasion will be fruitless--I
will not accept of it."

"I spoke hastily. Forget my words."

Mr. Dexter sat down beside his wife, and spoke in a gentle soothing
manner.

"It is all in vain, Mr. Dexter! All in vain! Yours were no idle
words; and I can never forget them. You have greatly misapprehended
your wife, I see; and the quicker you know this the better it will
be for both of us. The time has come for explanation--and it shall
be made! Why did I wish to come to Newport?"

"You knew that Paul Hendrickson was here," said Mr. Dexter; "that
was the reason!"

"It is false, sir!" was the quick and sharp rejoinder.

"Jessie! beware how you speak!" The angry blood mounted to the very
brow of the husband.

"It is false, sir!" she repeated, even more emphatically, if that
were possible. "Of his movements I am as ignorant as you are!"

"I cannot tamely bear such words," said Mr. Dexter, still much
excited.

"And _I will not_ bear such imputations," was firmly rejoined.

Mr. Dexter arose, and commenced the unsatisfactory movement of
pacing the floor. Mrs. Dexter remained sitting firmly erect, her
eyes following the form of her husband.

"We will drop the subject now and forever," said the former,
stopping, at length, in front of his wife.

Mrs. Dexter did not reply.

"I may have been too hasty."

"_May_ have been!" There was contempt on the lip, and indignation in
the voice of Mrs. Dexter.

"Yes, _may_. We are certain of nothing in this world," said her
husband, coldly; "and now, as I said, we will drop the subject."

"It is easier to say than to unsay, Mr. Dexter. The sentiment is
very trite, but it involves a world of meaning sometimes, and"--she
paused, then added, with marked emphasis--"_does now_!"

Mr. Dexter made no response, and there the matter ended for the
time; each of the ill-assorted partners farther from happiness than
they had yet been since the day of their unfortunate union.

CHAPTER XIV.

AN hour later: Scene, the public parlor.

"Mrs. Dexter."

The lady rose, a pleasant smile animating her face, and returned the
gentleman's courteous greeting.

"Mr. Hendrickson." Yes, that was the name on her lips.

"You arrived to-day," he said, and he took a place at the other end
of the _tete-a-tete_.

"Yes."

"From Saratoga, I believe?"

"Yes. How long have you been at Newport?"

"I arrived only this morning. You are looking very well, Mrs.
Dexter."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Time lays his hands upon you lightly!"

The shadow of another's presence came between them.

"Mr. Dexter, my husband; Mr. Hendrickson, from B--," said Mrs.
Dexter, with the most perfect ease of manner, presenting the two
gentlemen. They had met before, as the reader knows, and had good
reason for remembering each other. They touched hands, Dexter
frowning, and Hendrickson slightly embarrassed. Mrs. Dexter entirely
herself, smiling, talkative, and with an exterior as unruffled as a
mountain lake.

"How long will you remain?" she asked, speaking to Mr. Hendrickson.

"Several days."

"Ah! I am pleased to hear you say so. I left some very pleasant
friends at Saratoga, but yours is the only familiar face I have yet
seen here."

"I saw Mr. and Mrs. Florence just now," said Mr. Dexter.

"Did you?"

"Yes. There they are, at the lower end of the parlor. Do you see
them?"

Mrs. Dexter turned her eyes in the direction indicated by her
husband, and replied in an indifferent manner:

"Oh, yes."

"Mrs. Florence is looking at you now. Won't you go over and see
her?"

"After a while," replied Mrs. Dexter. Then turning to Mr.
Hendrickson, she said:

"These summer resorts are the dullest places imaginable without
congenial friends."

"So I should think. But you can scarcely know the absence of these.
I heard of you at Saratoga, as forming the centre of one of the most
agreeable and intelligent circles there."

"Ah!" Mrs. Dexter was betrayed into something like surprise.

"Yes. I saw Miss Arden in New York, as I came through. She had been
to Saratoga."

"Miss Arden? I don't remember her," said Mrs. Dexter.

"She resides in B--."

"Miss Arden? Miss Arden?" Mrs. Dexter seemed curious. "What is her
appearance?"

"Tall, with a very graceful figure. Complexion dark enough to make
her pass for a brunette. Large black eyes and raven hair."

"In company with her mother?" said Mrs. Dexter.

"Yes."

"I remember her now. She was quite the belle at Saratoga. But I was
not so fortunate as to make her acquaintance. She sings wonderfully.
Few professional artists are so gifted."

"You have used the right word," said Mr. Hendrickson. "Her musical
powers are wonderful. I wish you knew her, she is a charming girl."

"You must help me to that knowledge on our return to B--."

"Nothing would give me more pleasure. I am sure you will like each
other," said Hendrickson, warmly.

From that point in the conversation Mrs. Dexter began to lose her
self-possession, and free, outspoken manner. The subject was
changed, but the airiness of tone and lightness of speech was gone.
Just in time, Mrs. Florence came across the room, joined the circle,
and saving her from a betrayal of feelings that she would not, on
any account, have manifested.

Mrs. Florence was a woman of taste. She had been in New York a few
days previously, whither she had gone to hear a celebrated European
singer, whose fame had preceded her. Her allusion to this fact led
to an introduction of the subject of music. Hendickson made some
remarks that arrested her attention, when quite an animated
conversation sprung up between them. Mrs. Dexter did not join in it;
but sat a closely observant listener. The young man's criticisms on
the art of music surprised her. They were so new, so analytical, and
so comprehensive. He had evidently studied the subject, not as an
artist, but as a philosopher--but with so clear a comprehension of
the art, that from the mere science, he was able to lead the mind
upward into the fullest appreciation of the grander ideal.

Now and then as he talked, Mr. Dexter passed in a brief sentence;
but to the keen, intelligent perception of his wife, what mere
sounding words were his empty common-places! The contrast between
him and Hendrickson was painful. It was in vain that she tried not
to make this contrast. It thrust itself upon her, in spite of all
resistance.

Mr. Florence had crossed the room with his wife, and joined the
little circle. He did not take part in the conversation, and now
said, rising as he spoke.

"Come, Dexter; let's you and I have a game of billiards."

He laid his band familiarly on the arm of Mr. Dexter, and that
individual could not refuse to accept the invitation. They left the
room together. This withdrawal of Mr. Dexter put both his wife and
Mr. Hendrickson more at their ease. Both felt his absence as a
relief. For a time the conversation was chiefly conducted by the
latter and Mrs. Florence, only an occasional remark falling from the
lips of Mrs. Dexter, and that almost extorted by question or
reference. But gradually she was drawn in, and led on, until she was
the talker and they the listeners.

When interested in conversation, a fine enthusiasm always gave to
the manners of Mrs. Dexter a charming grace, and to her beautiful
countenance a higher beauty. She was almost fascinating. Never had
Hendrickson felt her power as he felt it now, while looking into her
animated face, and listening to sentiment, description, criticism or
anecdote, flowing from her lips in eloquent language, and evincing a
degree of taste, discrimination, refinement and observation he could
scarcely have imagined in one of her age.

He was leaning towards her, and listening with rapt interest, his
countenance and eyes full of admiration, when a quick, impatient
_ahem_ caused him to look up. As he did so, he encountered the
severe face and piercing eyes of Mr. Dexter. The sudden change in
the expression of his countenance warned Mrs. Dexter of the presence
of her husband, who had approached quietly, and was standing a pace
or two behind his wife. But not the slightest consciousness of this
presence did her manner exhibit. She kept on talking as before, and
talking to Mr. Hendrickson.

"Will you go with me now, Mrs. Dexter?" said her husband, coming
forward, and making a motion as if about to offer his arm.

"Not yet if you please, Mr. Dexter," was smilingly answered. "I am
too much interested in this good company. Come, sit down here," and
she made room for him on the sofa.

But he stood still.

"Then amuse yourself a little longer," said his wife, in a gay
voice. "I will be ready to go with you after a while."

Mr. Dexter moved away, disappointed, and commenced pacing the floor
of the long parlor. At every turn his keen eyes took in the aspect
of the little group, and particularly the meaning of his wife's
face, as it turned to Mr. Hendrickson, either in the play of
expression or warm with the listener's interest. The sight half
maddened him. Three times, in the next half hour, he said to his
wife, as he paused in his restless promenade before her--

"Come, Jessie."

But she only threw him a smiling negative, and became still more
interesting to her friends. At last, and of her own will, she arose,
and bowing, with a face all smiles and eyes dancing in light, to Mr.
Hendrickson and Mrs. Florence, she stepped forward, and placing her
hand on the arm of her husband, went like a sunbeam from the room.

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