The Hand But Not the Heart

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

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CHAPTER XV.

"MADAM!"

They had reached their own apartments, and Mrs. Dexter was moving
forward past her husband. The stern imperative utterance caused her
to pause and turn round.

"We leave for home in the morning!" said Mr. Dexter.

"_We_?" His wife looked at him fixedly as she made the simple
interrogation.

"Yes, _we_!" was answered, and in the voice of one who had made up
his mind, and did not mean to be thwarted in his purpose.

"Mr. Dexter!" his wife stood very erect before him; her eyes did not
quail beneath his angry glances; nor was there any sign of weakness
in her low, even tones. "Let me warn you now--and regard the warning
as for all time--against any attempt to coerce me into obedience to
your arbitrary exactions. Your conduct to-night was simply
disgraceful--humiliating to yourself, and mortifying and unjust to
your wife. Let us have no more of this. There is a high wall between
us, Mr. Dexter--high as heaven and deep as--." Her feelings were
getting the rein and she checked herself. "Your own hands have built
it," she resumed in a colder tone, "but your own hands, I fear, have
not the strength to pull it down. Love you I never did, and you knew
it from the beginning; love you I never can. That is a simple
impossibility. But true to you as steel to the magnet in all the
externals of my life, I have been and shall continue to be, even to
the end of this unhappy union. As a virtuous woman, I could be
nothing less. The outrage I have suffered this day from your hands,
is irreparable. I never imagined it would come to this. I did not
dream that it was in you to charge upon your wife the meditation of
a crime the deepest it is possible for a woman to commit. That you
were weakly jealous, I saw; and I came here in cheerful acquiescence
to your whim, in order to help you to get right. But this very act
of cheerful acquiescence was made the ground of a charge that
shocked my being to the inmost and changed me towards you
irrevocably."

The stern angry aspect of Mr. Dexter was all gone. It seemed as if
emotion had suddenly exhausted itself.

"We had better go home to-morrow." He spoke in a subdued voice.
"Neither of us can find enjoyment here."

"I shall not be ready to morrow, nor the next day either," was the
out-spoken reply. "To go thus hurriedly, after your humiliating
exhibition of distrust, would only be to give free rein to the
tongue of scandal; and that I wish to avoid."

"It has free rein already," said Mr. Dexter. "At Saratoga I heard
your name lightly spoken and brought you away for that very reason.
You are not chary enough of yourself in these public places. I know
men better than you do."

"If a light word was spoken of me, sir, at Saratoga or anywhere
else, you alone are to blame. My conduct has warranted no such
freedom of speech. But I can easily imagine how men will think
lightly of a woman when her husband shows watchfulness and
suspicion. It half maddens me, sir, to have this disgrace put upon
me. To-morrow week I will go home if you then desire it--not a day
earlier. And I warn you against any more such exhibitions as we have
had to-night. If you cannot take pleasure in society that is
congenial to my taste, leave me to my enjoyment, but don't mar it
with your cloudy presence. And set this down as a truism--the wife
that must be watched, is not worth having."

For utterances like these, Mr. Dexter was not prepared. They stunned
and weakened him. He felt that he had a spirit to deal with that
might easily be driven to desperation. A man, if resolute, he had
believed might control the actions of almost any woman--that woman
being his wife. And he had never doubted the result of marital
authority, should he at any time deem it necessary to lay upon Mrs.
Dexter an iron hand. The occasion, as he believed, had arrived; the
hand was put forth; the will was resolute; but his vice-like grip
closed upon the empty air! The spirit with which he had to deal was
of subtler essence and more vigorous life than he had imagined.

How suddenly were Mrs. Dexter's wifely, unselfish and self-denying
purposes in regard to her husband scattered upon the winds! She had
come to Newport, resolved to be all to him that it was possible for
her to be--even to the withdrawing of herself more from social
circles in which attractive men formed a part. The admonitions of
Mrs. De Lisle sunk deeply into her heart. She saw her relation to
her husband in a new aspect. He had larger claims upon her than she
had admitted heretofore. If she had been partly coerced into the
compact, he had been deceived by her promises at the altar into
expecting more than it was in her power to give. She owed him not
only a wife's allegiance, but a wife's tender consideration.

Alas! how suddenly had all these good purposes been withered up,
like tender flowers in the biting frost! And now there was strife
between them--bitterness, anger, scorn, alienation. The uneasiness
which her husband had manifested for some months previously,
whenever she was in free, animated conversation with gentlemen,
annoyed her slightly; but she had never regarded it as a very
serious affection on his part, and, conscious of her own purity,
believed that he would ere long see the evidence thereof, and cease
to give himself useless trouble. His conduct at Saratoga, followed
by the conversations with Mrs. De Lisle and Mrs. Anthony, aroused
her to a truer sense of his actual state of mind. His singular,
stealthy scanning of her countenance, immediately after their
arrival at Newport, following, as she rightly concluded, his
unexpected meeting with Hendrickson, considerably disturbed the
balance of mind she had sought to gain, and this dimmed her clear
perceptions of duty. His direct reference to Mr. Hendrickson, after
her hurried meeting with him, filled her with indignation, and
simply prepared the way for this last defiant position. She felt
deeply outraged, and wholly estranged.

Icy reserve and distant formality now marked the intercourse of Mr.
and Mrs. Dexter. It was all in vain that he sought to win back that
semblance of affection which he had lost. Mrs. Dexter was too
sincere a woman--too earnest and true--for broad disguises. She
could be courteous, regardful, attentive to all the needs of her
husband; but she could not pretend to love, when daily her heart
experienced new occasions of dislike.

On the next morning, Mrs. Dexter, on going into one of the parlors,
met Mr. Hendrickson. From his manner, it was evident that he had
been waiting there in hopes to gain an interview. Mrs. Dexter felt
displeased. She was a lawful wife, and it struck her as an
implication on his part of possible dishonor on hers. He came
forward to meet her as she entered the room, with a pleased smile on
his face, but she gave his warm greeting but a cold return. An
instant change in his manner, showed the effect upon his feelings.

"I shall leave to-day," he said.

"So soon? I thought you purposed remaining for several days."

"So I did. But I have a letter this morning from the brother of Miss
Arden, of whom I spoke last evening. He leaves her at Albany to-day,
and asks me to join her to-morrow. They were on their way to
Niagara; but unexpected business--he is a lawyer--requires him to
return home; and I am to be the young lady's escort. So they have
arranged the matter, and I cannot decline, of course."

"Why should you?" Mrs. Dexter schooled her voice. Its natural
expression, at that time, might have betrayed a state of feeling
that it would have been treason to exhibit.

"True. Why should I? The lady is charming. I was going to say that
she has not her peer."

"Why not say it?" remarked Mrs. Dexter.

"Because," replied Mr. Hendrickson, as his eyes withdrew themselves
from the face of Mrs. Dexter, "I do not believe it. She has her
peer."

"She must be a lovely woman so to captivate your fancy," said Mrs.
Dexter.

"Did I say that she had captivated my fancy?" asked Hendrickson.

"If not in so many formally spoken words, yet in a language that we
ladies can read at a glance," replied Mrs. Dexter, affecting a gay
smile. "Well," she added, "as you are to be so largely the gainer by
this sudden withdrawal from Newport, we quiet people, who cannot but
miss your pleasant company, have nothing left but acquiescence. I
hope to make Miss Arden's acquaintance on our return to B--."

The voice of Mrs. Dexter had a faint huskiness and there were signs
of depression which she was not able to conceal. These the watchful
eyes of Mr. Hendrickson detected. But so far from taking any
advantage thereof, he made an effort to divert both her mind and his
own by the introduction of a more indifferent subject. They
conversed for half an hour longer, but no further reference was made
to Miss Arden. Then Mr. Hendrickson excused himself. Mrs. Dexter did
not see him again.

He left for Boston soon after, on his way to join Miss Arden at
Albany.

From the parlor Mrs. Dexter returned to her own rooms, and did not
leave them during the day. She had felt feverish on rising, and was
conscious of a pressure on the brain, accompanied by a feeling of
lassitude that was unusual. This condition of the system increased,
as the day wore on. At dinner-time, her husband urged her to go with
him to the table; but she had a loathing for food, and declined. He
ordered a servant to take tea, with toast and some delicacies, to
her room; but when he came up again, he found them untasted.

"Was this a disease of mind or body?" Mr. Dexter asked himself the
question, and studied over the solution. Notwithstanding the
disturbed interview with his wife on the previous evening, he had
kept his eyes on her, and noticed her meeting with Hendrickson in
the parlor. Her warning, however, had proved effectual in preventing
his intrusion upon them. He saw Hendrickson leave her, and noticed
that she sat in deep abstraction for some time afterwards, and that
when she arose, and went up to her own apartments, her face wore an
expression that was unusual. Much to his surprise, he saw
Hendrickson leave soon after for Boston. On examining the register,
he learned that his destination was Albany.

A momentary relief was experienced at this departure; but soon
mystery was suggested, and a mutual understanding between his wife
and Hendrickson imagined. And so fuel was heaped on the fires of
jealousy, which blazed up again as fiercely as ever. The seclusion
of herself in her own room by Mrs. Dexter, following as it did
immediately on the departure of Hendrickson, confirmed him in the
impression that she was deeply interested in her old lover. How else
could he interpret her conduct? If she were really sick, conflict of
feeling, occasioned by his presence, was the cause. That to his mind
was clear. And he was not so far wrong; for, in part, here lay the
origin of her disturbed condition of mind and body. Still, his
conclusions went far beyond the truth.

Mrs. Dexter was lying on the bed when her husband came up from
dinner. She did not stir on his entrance. Her face was turned away,
and partly hidden by the fringe of a pillow.

"You must eat something," he said, speaking kindly. But she neither
moved nor replied.

"Jessie." No motion or response.

"Jessie!" Mr. Dexter stood a few feet from the bed, looking at her.

"She may be sleeping," he thought, and stepping forward, he bent
down and laid his fingers lightly on her cheek. It was unnaturally
hot. "Jessie"--he uttered her name again--"are you asleep?"

"No." She replied in a feeble murmur.

"Won't you have a cup of tea?"

"No."

"Are you sick?"

She did not answer. He laid his hand upon her cheek again.

"You have fever."

A low sigh was the only response.

"Does your head ache?"

Something was said in reply, but the ear of Mr. Dexter could not
make out the words.

"Jessie! Jessie! Why don't you answer me? Are you sick?"

Mr. Dexter spoke with rising impatience. Still and silent as an
effigy she remained. For a moment or two he strode about the room,
and then went out abruptly. He came back in half an hour.

There lay his wife as he had left her, and without the appearance of
having stirred. A shadow of deeper concern now fell upon his
spirits. Bending over the bed, and laying his hand upon her face
again, he perceived that it was not only flushed, but hotter than
before. He spoke, but her ears seemed shut to his voice.

"Jessie! Jessie!" He moved her gently, turning her face towards him.
Her eyes were closed, her lips shut firmly, and wearing an
expression of pain, her forehead slightly contracted.

"Shall I call a physician?" he asked.

But she did not reply. Sudden alarm awakened in the heart of Mr.
Dexter. Going to the bell, he rang it violently. To the servant who
came he said, hurriedly--

"Go and find Dr. G--, and tell him that I wish to see him
immediately."

The servant departed, and Dexter went back to the bed. No change had
occurred in his wife. She still lay, to all appearance, in a stupor.
It was nearly a quarter of an hour before Dr. G--came; the waiter
had been at some trouble to find him.

"My wife seems quite ill," said Mr. Dexter, as he entered, "and, I
think requires medical attention."

Dr. G--went to the bedside and stood looking at the flushed face
of Mrs. Dexter for some moments. Then he laid his hand against her
cheek, and then took hold of her wrist. Mr. Dexter, whose eyes were
on him, thought he saw him start and change countenance at the first
stroke of the pulse that played against his fingers.

"How long has she been in this condition?" asked the doctor, turning
with a serious aspect to Mr. Dexter.

"She has not seemed well since morning" was replied. "I noticed that
she scarcely tasted food at breakfast, and she has kept her room for
most of the day, lying down for a greater part of the time. I left
her on the bed when I went to dinner. She did not complain of
indisposition, but seemed listless and out of spirits. I ordered tea
sent up, but, as you perceive, it has not been tasted. On my return,
I found her in the condition in which she now lies--(sic)appparently
in a heavy sleep."

The physician did not seem to get any light from this statement. He
turned his eyes again upon the face of Mr. Dexter, and stood in
thought for almost a minute. Then he examined her pulse again. It
had a strong, rapid, wiry beat. Stooping, he looked very closely at
the condition of her skin; then shook his head, and said something
in an under tone.

"Do you think her seriously ill?" inquired Mr. Dexter.

"Has there been any unusual exposure; or any strong mental
disturbance?" asked the doctor, not seeming to have heard the
question.

"There has been mental disturbance," said Mr. Dexter.

"Of a violent character?"

"She was strongly agitated last night, at something that happened."

"Was it of a nature to leave a permanent impression on her
feelings?"

"Yes." The answers were made with evident reluctance.

"Her condition is an unusual one," said the doctor, musing; and he
resumed his examination of the case.

"Dr. R--, from Boston, arrived to-day;" he looked up, and
presented a very grave face to the now seriously alarmed husband. "I
think he had better be consulted."

"Oh, by all means," said Mr. Dexter. "Shall I go in search of him?"

"Do you know (sic) kim?"

"I do not."

"I will go then. It may save time, and that is important."

The doctor went out hurriedly, and in less than five minutes
returned with Doctor R--. The two physicians conferred for some
time, speaking in under tones. Mr. Dexter heard the words
"congestion of the brain" and "brain fever," with increasing alarm.

"Well, doctors, how do you decide the case?" he inquired anxiously,
as their conference terminated.

"There is a strong tendency to congestion of the brain," was replied
by Doctor G--, "but, it is our opinion that we can check this
tendency. Your wife, Mr. Dexter, is seriously ill. An experienced
nurse must be had without delay. And every possible attention given,
so as to second at all points the treatment under which she will be
placed. A favorable result will doubtless crown our efforts. I
present the case as a serious one, because it is so in its
requirement of skill and unfailing attention."

The doctors did not err in their estimate of the case. The illness
of Mrs. Dexter proved to be very serious. It was a brain fever. Four
weeks elapsed before she was able to be removed from Newport to her
home, and then she was so feeble in body and mind as to present but
the shadowy semblance of her former self.

Very slowly did health flow back through her exhausted system. But a
cheerful mind did not come with returning vigor. Her, spirit had
bowed itself towards the earth; and power to rise again into the
bracing atmosphere and warm sunshine, was not restored for a long
period.

CHAPTER XVI.

AT Albany, Mr. Hendrickson found Miss Arden awaiting him. The warmth
of her reception showed that he was more in her eyes than a pleasant
friend. And in his regard she held the highest place--save one.

The meeting with Mrs. Dexter at Newport was unfortunate. Hendrickson
had looked right down into her heart; reading a page, the writing on
which she would have died rather than have revealed. Her pure regard
for him was her own deeply hidden secret. It was a lamp burning in
the sepulchre of buried hope. She could no more extinguish the
sacred fire than quench her own existence.

But thrown suddenly off her guard, she had betrayed this secret to
unlawful eyes. Hendrickson had read it. And she too had read his
heart. After the lapse of more than a year they had met; and without
wrong on either side had acknowledged a mutual inextinguishable
love.

"You are not well, Mr. (sic) Henrickson." Many times, and with
undisguised concern, was this said by Miss Arden, during the journey
to Niagara.

"Only a slight headache;" or, "I'm well enough, but feel dull;" or,
"The trip from Newport fatigued me," would be answered, and an
effort made to be more companionable. But the task was difficult,
and the position in which the young man found himself particularly
embarrassing. His thoughts were not with Miss Arden, but with Mrs.
Dexter. Before the unexpected meeting at Newport, he had believed
himself so far released from that entanglement of the heart, as to
be free to make honorable advances to Miss Arden. But he saw his
error now. With him marriage was something more than a good
matrimonial arrangement, in which parties secure external
advantages. To love Miss Arden better than any other living woman,
he now saw to be impossible--and unless he could so love her, he
dared not marry her. That was risking a great deal too much. His
position became, therefore, an embarrassing one. Her brother was an
old friend. They had been college companions. The sister he had
known for some years, but had never been particularly interested in
her until within a few months. Distancing his observation, her mind
had matured; and the graces of art, education and accomplishment,
had thrown their winning attractions around her. First, almost as a
brother, he began to feel proud of her beauty and intelligence;
admiration followed, and, before he was aware of the tendency of his
feelings, they had taken on a warmer than fraternal glow.

All things tended to encourage this incipient regard; and, as Miss
Arden herself favored it, and ever turned towards Hendrickson the
sunniest side of her character, he found himself drawn onwards
almost imperceptibly; and had even begun to think seriously of her
as his wife, when the meeting with Mrs. Dexter revealed the
existence of sentiments on both sides that gave the whole subject a
new aspect.

A very difficult problem now presented itself to the mind of Mr.
Hendrickson, involving questions of duty, questions of honor, and
questions of feeling. It is not surprising that Miss Arden found a
change in her travelling companion, nor that her visit to Niagara
proved altogether unsatisfactory. No one could have been kindlier,
more attentive, or more studious to make her visit attractive. But
his careful avoidance of all compliments, and the absence of every
thing lover-like, gave her heart the alarm. It was in vain that she
put forth every chaste, womanly allurement; his eyes did not
brighten, nor his cheeks glow, nor his tones become warmer. He was
not to be driven from the citadel of his honor. A weaker, more
selfish, and more external man, would have yielded. But Hendrickson,
like the woman he had lost, was not made of "common clay," nor cast
in any of humanity's ruder moulds. He was of purer essence and
higher spiritual organization than the masses; and principle had now
quite as much to do with his actions as feeling. He could be a
martyr, but not a villain.

Two days were spent at Niagara, and then Hendrickson and Miss Arden
returned, and went to Saratoga. It did not, of course, escape the
notice of Hendrickson, that his manner to his travelling companion
was effecting a steady change in her spirits; and he was not lacking
in perception as to the cause. It revealed to him the sincerity of
her regard; but added to the pain from which he was suffering,
increasing it almost to the point where endurance fails.

It was a relief to Hendrickson when he was able to place Miss Arden
under the care of her mother, who had remained at Saratoga. On the
evening after his arrival, he was sitting alone in one of the
drawing-rooms, when a lady crossed from the other side, and joined
another lady near him.

"Mrs. De Lisle," said the latter, as she arose.

"Good evening, Mrs. Anthony!" and the ladies sat down together.

"I have just received a sad letter from Newport," said Mrs. De
Lisle.

"Indeed! What has happened there?"

"Our sweet young friend is dangerously ill."

"Who? Mrs. Dexter?"

"Yes."

"Mrs. De Lisle! She was in perfect health, to all appearance, when
she left here."

"So I thought. But she has suddenly been stricken down with a brain
fever, and her physicians regard her condition as most critical."

"You distress me beyond measure!" said Mrs. Anthony.

"My friend writes that three physicians are in attendance; and that
they report her case as dangerous in the extreme. I did not intend
going there until next week, but, unless my husband strongly
objects, I will leave to-morrow. Good nursing is quite as essential
as medical skill."

"Go, by all means, if you can," replied Mrs. Anthony. "Dear child! I
shouldn't wonder if that jealous husband of hers had done something
to induce this attack. Brain fever don't come on without mental
excitement of some kind. I can't bear him; and I believe, if the
truth were known, it would be found that she hates the very sight of
him. He's a man made of money; and that's saying the best that can
be said. As to qualities of the mind and heart, she ranks, in
everything, his superior. What a sacrifice of all that such a woman
holds dear must have been made when she consented to become the
wedded wife of Leon Dexter!"

Hendrickson heard no more, for a third party coming up at the
moment, led to a change in the conversation. At the same instant
Mrs. Arden and her daughter entered the room, and he arose and
stepped forward to meet them.

"How pale you look, Mr. Hendrickson!" said Mrs. Arden, with concern.
"Are you not well?"

"I have not felt as bright as usual, for some days," he answered,
trying to force a smile, but without success. "Your daughter has, no
doubt, already informed you that I proved myself one of the dullest
of travelling companions."

"Oh, no," Miss Arden spoke up quickly. "Ma knows that I gave you
credit for being exceedingly agreeable. But, indeed, Mr.
Hendrickson, you look ill."

"I am slightly indisposed," he answered, "and with your leave will
retire to my room. I shall feel better after lying down."

"Go by all means," said Mrs. Arden.

Hendrickson bowed low, and, passing them, left the parlor almost
hurriedly.

"Dangerously ill! A brain fever!" he said aloud, as he gained his
own apartment and shut the door behind him. He was deeply disturbed.
That their unexpected meeting had something to do with this sudden
sickness he now felt sure. Her strong, though quickly controlled
agitation he had seen; it was a revelation never to be forgotten;
and showed the existence of a state of feeling in regard to her
husband which must render her very existence a burden. That she was
closely watched, he had seen, as well as heard. And it did not
appear to him improbable, considering the spirit he had observed her
display, that coincident with his departure from Newport, some
jealous accusations had been made, half maddening her spirit, and
stunning her brain with excitement.

"Angel in the keeping of a fiend!" he exclaimed, as imagination drew
improbable scenes of persecution. "How my heart aches for
you--yearns towards you--longs for the dear privilege of making all
your paths smooth and fragrant; all your hours golden-winged; all
your states peaceful! How precious you are to me! Precious as my own
soul--dear counterpart! loving complement! Vain, as your own strife
with yourself, has been my strife. The burden has been too heavy for
us; the ordeal too fiery. My brain grows wild at thought of this
terrible wrong."

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