“My dear child! what is the meaning of this visit? Where is Mr. Dexter? Did he come with you?”
“I am cold,” she answered, with a shiver. “The air is piercing.” And she turned towards the grate, spreading her hands to the genial warmth.
“Did Mr. Dexter come with you?” Mrs. Loring repeated the question.
“No; I came alone,” was the quietly spoken answer.
“You did not walk?”
“Yes.”
“Why, Jessie! You imprudent child! Does Mr. Dexter know of this?”
There was no reply to this question.
“Aunt Phoebe,” said Mrs. Dexter, turning from the fire, “can I see you alone?”
“Certainly, dear,” and placing an arm around her, Mrs. Loring went with her niece from the room.
“You have frightened me, child,” said the aunt, as soon as they were alone. “What has happened? Why have you come at this untimely hour, and with such an imprudent exposure of your health?”
“I have come home, Aunt Phoebe!” Mrs. Dexter stood and looked steadily into the face of her aunt.
“Home, Jessie?” Mrs. Loring was bewildered.
“I have no other home in the wide world, Aunt Phoebe.” The sadness of Jessie’s low, steady voice, went deep down into the worldly heart of Mrs. Loring.
“Child! child! What do you mean?” exclaimed the astonished woman.
“Simply, that I have come back to you again—to die, I trust, and that right early!”
“Where is Mr. Dexter? What has happened? Oh, Jessie! speak plainly!” said Mrs. Loring, much agitated.
“I have left Mr. Dexter, Aunt Phoebe.” She yet spoke in a calm voice. “And shall not return to him. If you will let me have that little chamber again, which I used to call my own, I will bless you for the sanctuary, and hide myself in it from the world. I do not think I shall burden you a long time, Aunt Phoebe. I am passing through conflicts and enduring pains that are too severe for me. Feeble nature is fast giving way. The time will not be long, dear aunt!”
“Sit down, child! There! Sit down.” And Mrs. Loring led her niece to a chair. “This is a serious business, Jessie,” she added, in a troubled voice. “I am bewildered by your strange language. What does it mean? Speak to me plainly. I am afraid you are dreaming.”
“I wish it were a dream, aunt. But no—all is fearfully real. For causes of which I cannot now speak, I have separated myself from Mr. Dexter, and shall never live with him again. Our ways have parted, and forever.”
“Jessie! Jessie! What madness! Are you beside yourself? Is this a step to be taken without a word of consultation with friends?”
Mrs. Loring, as soon as her mind began clearly to comprehend what her niece had done, grew strongly excited. Mrs. Dexter did not reply, but let her eyes fall to the floor, and remained silent. She had no defence to make at any human tribunal.
“Why have you done this, Jessie?” demanded her aunt.
“Forgive my reply, Aunt Phoebe; I can make no other now. The reason is with God and my own heart. He can look deeper than any human eyes have power to see; and comprehend more than I can put in words. My cause is with Him. If my burdens are too heavy, He will not turn from me because I fall fainting by the way.”
“Jessie, what is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Loring spoke in a suddenly changed voice, and coming close to her niece, looked earnestly into her face. “Here is a bad bruise on your right cheek, and another on the temple just above. And the skin is inflamed around the edges of these bruises, showing them to be recent. How came this, Jessie?”
“Bruises? Are you certain?”
“Why, yes, child! and bad ones, too.”
Mrs. Dexter looked surprised. She raised her hand to her cheek and temple, and pressing slightly, was conscious of pain.
“I believe I fainted in the parlor this afternoon,” she said; “I must have fallen to the floor.”
“Fainted! From what cause?” asked Mrs. Loring.
Mrs. Dexter was silent.
“Was it from sudden illness?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Loring was not satisfied with this brief answer. Imagination suggested some personal outrage.
“Was Mr. Dexter in the parlor when you fainted?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Why did he not save you from falling?”
“I am very cold, aunt; and my head turns. Let me lie down.” Mrs. Dexter made an effort to rise. As Mrs. Loring caught her arms, she felt them shiver. Quickly leading her to the bed, she laid her in among the warm blankets; but external warmth could not subdue the nervous chill that shook her frame in every part.
“The doctor must be sent for,” said Mrs. Loring—and she was about leaving the bedside.
“No, no, aunt!” Mrs. Dexter caught her hand, and held her back. “I want no physician—only quiet and seclusion. Have my own little room prepared for me, and let me go there to-night.”
Mrs. Loring sat down undecided, and in great perplexity of mind.
“Listen!” Some one had rung the door-bell violently.
“Aunt!” Mrs. Dexter started up and laid her hand on the arm of Mrs. Loring. “If that is Mr. Dexter, remember that I positively refuse to meet him. I am ill, as you can see; and I warn you that the agitation of a forced interview may cost me my life.”
“If it is Mr. Dexter, what shall I say? Hark! Yes! It is his step, and his voice.”
“Say that I cannot be seen, and that I have left him forever.”
“But, Jessie”—
“Aunt Loring, remonstrance is vain! I have not taken this step without a deep consciousness of being right; and no power on earth can lead me to retrace it. Let him comprehend that, in its plain significance; the sooner he does so the better will it be for both.”
“Mr. Dexter wishes to see you,” said a servant, coming to the door.
“Say that I will be down in a moment.”
Mrs. Loring stood for some time, endeavoring to collect her thoughts and calm her feelings. She then went down to the parlor.
CHAPTER XIX.
“Is Jessie here?” inquired Mr. Dexter, in a hurried manner.
“She is,” replied Mrs. Loring.
“I wish to see her.”
“Sit down, Mr. Dexter. I want to speak with you about Jessie.”
Mr. Dexter sat down, though with signs of impatience.
“What is the meaning of this? What has happened, Mr. Dexter?”
“Only a slight misunderstanding. Jessie is over sensitive. But I must see her immediately; and alone, if you please, Mrs. Loring.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Dexter, but Jessie will not see you.”
“Not see me!”
“No, Sir.”
“Go and say that I am here, and that I must see her, if only for a single moment.”
“She knows you are here, Mr. Dexter; and her message is—’Say that I cannot seen.’”
“Where is she?” Mr. Dexter moved towards the door; but Mrs. Loring, who had taken it into her head that personal abuse—a blow, perhaps—was the cause of Jessie’s flight from the residence of her husband—(she could understand and be properly indignant at such an outrage), stepping before him said—
“Don’t forget, sir, that this is my house! You cannot pass into any of its apartments unless I give permission. And such permission is now withheld. My niece is in no condition for exciting interviews. There has been enough of that for one day, I should think.”
“What do you mean? What has she said?” demanded Mr. Dexter, looking almost fiercely at Mrs. Loring.
“Nothing!” was replied. “She refuses to answer my questions. But I see that her mind is greatly agitated, while her person bears evidence of cruel treatment.”