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.”