Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life. Ann S. Stephens

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СКАЧАТЬ not have interested me much but for something that I observed in Jessie, who was evidently far better acquainted with the man than any of us; for it seems he had been in the habit of joining her and Mrs. Dennison in their walks long before he attained an introduction to Mrs. Lee. Lawrence was a tall, powerful man, very distinguished and elegant in his bearing, wonderfully brilliant in conversation, and one who always would be a leader for good or evil among his fellow-men. He had been a good deal connected with the politics of the country, and at one time was considered a power in Wall Street, from which he had withdrawn, it was impossible to say whether penniless, or with a large fortune.

      This man was soon on terms of cordial intimacy with our family, but I watched him with distrust. He was just the person to dazzle and fascinate an ardent, inexperienced girl like our Jessie, and I saw with pain that her color would rise and fade beneath his glances, and that a look of triumph lighted up his eyes when he remarked it.

      Here was another source of anxiety. This man of the world, who had spent half his life in the struggles of Wall Street and a tangle of politics, was no match for a creature so pure and true as our Jessie. Yet I greatly feared that her heart was turning to him at the expense of that brave, honorable young man whose very existence seemed to have been forgotten among us.

      But young Bosworth came at last, and I was more at rest. Jessie was certainly glad to see him, and, much to my surprise, he dropped at once into intimate relations with Lawrence, and recognized him as an old friend whom he had met during the few months that he had spent abroad.

      I have not said that Lottie was one of the attendants whom we brought from the Ridge. This girl had grown somewhat in stature, but was still very small. Her light-yellow hair was wonderfully abundant, and she had a dozen fantastic ways of dressing it, which added to the singularity of her appearance. At times, her eyes were clear and steady in their glances; but, if a feeling of distrust came over her, both eyes would cross ominously, and she seemed to be glancing inward with the sharp vigilance of a fox.

      There always had been a remarkable sympathy between me and this strange girl. From the day I first saw her, she seemed to pine my feelings, conceal them as I would, and to share all my dislikes almost before they were formed. At first, she had kept aloof from the servants of the hotel. This was not strange, for Lottie was, in fact, better educated than some of their mistresses. She had managed to pick up a great deal of knowledge as she sat by while Jessie took her lessons, and I had found pleasure in teaching her such English branches as befitted her station in life. In fact, Lottie had become more like a companion than a servant with us all.

      To my surprise, after keeping aloof for a whole week, Lottie fell into the closest intimacy with Cora, Mrs. Dennison's maid, and I could see that she lost no opportunity of watching the mistress and Mr. Lawrence.

      What all this might have ended in I cannot tell, for just as our intimacy became closest, the strong sea-air began to have an unfavorable effect on our patient.

      A sudden longing for home seized upon her one day, after Lottie had been with her talking about the Ridge, and it was decided that we should leave the Branch at once, though the season was at its height, and Jessie had entered into its gayeties with all the zest of her ardent nature.

      I think Mr. Lee was rather reluctant to go away so suddenly. He had been so long excluded from this form of social life that it had all the charm of novelty to him; but the least wish of his wife was enough to change all this, and he became only anxious to get her safely home again.

      I do not know how it happened, or who really gave the invitation, but on the night before I left we learned from Mrs. Dennison herself, that she had promised to make us an early visit; and half an hour later, as I sat alone in the lower veranda, young Bosworth and Mr. Lawrence passed me, talking earnestly. "Of course, my dear fellow, I shall come if a careless person like me will be acceptable to that fine old lady, your grandmother. That promise of partridge-shooting is beyond my powers of resistance."

      It was Mr. Lawrence who spoke, and I knew by this fragment of conversation that he too was coming into our neighborhood.

CHAPTER VIII.

       OUR GUEST.

       Table of Contents

      I stood in the oriel window that curved out from one end of the large parlor and looked toward the east; that is, it commanded a broad view from all points, save the direct west. The heavenly glimpses of scenery that you caught at every turn through the small diamond panes were enough to drive an artist mad, that so much unpainted poetry could exist, and not glow warm and fresh on his canvas. I am an artist, at soul, and have a gallery of the most superb brain-pictures stowed away in my thoughts, but among them all there is nothing to equal the scene, or rather scenes, I was gazing upon.

      The window was deep, and when that rich volume of curtains shut it out from the parlor, it was the most cosy little spot in the world. A deep easy-chair, and a tiny marble stand, filled it luxuriously. On the outside, white jasmines, passion-flowers, and choice roses, crept up to the edge of the glass in abundance, encircling you with massive wreaths of foliage and blossoms.

      This window had always been my favorite retreat, when sadness or care oppressed me, as it had begun to do seriously of late, for a degree of estrangement had arisen between Jessie and myself, after our return from the sea-side. I could not share her enthusiasm regarding some of the persons we had met there, and for the first time in her life she was half offended with me.

      I can hardly express the pain this gave me. All her life she had come to me in her troubles; and her bright, innocent joys I always shared; for, like a flower-garden, she sent back the sunshine that passed over her, enriched and more golden from a contact with her loveliness. I can hardly tell you what a thing of beauty she was; yet, I doubt if you would have thought her so very lovely as I did, for my admiration was almost idolatry. Of late I had remarked a certain reserve about her, the reticence which kept a sanctuary of feeling and thought quite away from the world, and alas, from me also. Yet she was frank and truthful, as the flower which always folds the choicest perfume close in its own heart. What secret feeling was it that kept her from me, her oldest and best friend.

      I was thinking of Jessie while I sat in the easy-chair, looking down the carriage-road that led through our private grounds from the highway; for ours was an isolated dwelling, and no carriage that was not destined for the house ever came up that sweep of road. I looked down upon it with a sad, heavy feeling, though my eyes passed over a terrace crowned with a wilderness of flowers, reached by a flight of steps. The gleam of these flowers, and the green slope beyond, were a part of the scenery on which I gazed, yet I saw nothing of them.

      We expected Mrs. Dennison. The carriage had gone over to the country town which lay behind the hills piled up at my left, and I was listening for the sound of its wheels on the gravel with a strange thrill of anxiety. Why was this? What did I care about the young widow who had been invited to spend a few days with our Jessie? She was only a watering-place acquaintance—a clever, beautiful woman of the world, who, having a little time on her hands, had condescended to remember Mrs. Lee's half-extorted invitation, and was expected accordingly.

      Jessie was rather excited with the idea of a guest, for it so chanced that we had been alone for a week or two; and though I never saw a family more independent of society than Mrs. Lee's, guests always bring expectation and cheerfulness with them in a well-appointed country house.

      "I wonder what keeps them?" said my darling, softly lifting one side of the silken curtains, and unconsciously dropping them into the background of as lovely a picture as you ever saw. "Here are some flowers for the stand, Aunt Matty. She'll catch their СКАЧАТЬ