Wives and Widows; or The Broken Life Part 30

"I shall be ready; we can walk across the fields."

"Yes; then Mrs. Dennison need not know anything about it."

"Hus.h.!.+" I said; "there she is."

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

OUR VISIT TO THE OLD MANSION.

Mrs. Dennison came in airy and graceful as usual; I noticed that she had changed her dress. She kissed Jessie with as much affection as if she had not seen her for a week, and began discoursing with great volubility.

"I was up before either of you," she said; "I have been out in the garden, ruining my white dress, and racing among the beds, to the great astonishment of the old gardener."

"You look fresh and charming as the roses themselves," Jessie replied.

"Of course. But don't pay compliments; Miss Hyde does not like them."

"If they are sincere, I do," I said.

"Ah! then you must like mine. Indeed, I should be afraid to tell you a story; I am certain those honest eyes of yours would detect it at once."

I disclaimed any such extraordinary powers for my poor eyes, and the widow rattled on about something else. She always went from one subject to another in a rapid, graceful way, like a bird flying about in the trees.

"Why, where is Mr. Lee?" she asked.

"Gone out," said Jessie; "he went early."

"How ungallant," she returned; but she looked so very innocent that I was more than ever convinced she had seen him before his departure.

One thing I could say for Mrs. Dennison, she never troubled her hosts to entertain her. Directly after breakfast, she went, as usual, her own way, and Jessie and I were free to start upon our expedition.

"We had better go at once," I said; "there is no telling when she may dance in upon us again."

"You don't like her, Aunt Matty," replied Jessie; "I am sure you don't, yet she is very charming."

"Never mind; there is no time to discuss my fancies," I said. "Get your bonnet, Jessie."

She hesitated and grew a little pale, but complied at once. We were ready in a few moments, and, pa.s.sing through the garden, went down the path by the grove, and took our way across the fields to the old house.

Jessie was very silent during our walk, and I was so much occupied with my plans and my fancies that I had little time to break the thread of her thoughts.

When we reached the gate that led into the door-yard, Jessie stopped.

"Oh, I am so frightened," she said.

Poor child! she was very pale, and shook from head to foot with an agitation that reminded me painfully of her mother's nervous excitements. I did my best to soothe her, but, in spite of her efforts, it was some moments before she could go on.

"You will not mind it after the first meeting," I said.

"I am very foolish, I know. There, I am ready now."

As we turned into the avenue, I saw Mr. Lawrence pa.s.s along the road on horseback. He gave a sharp, quick look, and rode on. I said nothing to Jessie; it was useless to agitate her further. His pa.s.sing at that time might have been mere chance.

Jessie clung to me as we went up the two broad steps and entered the hall. I did not speak, contenting myself with a rea.s.suring pressure of the hand; for I knew from experience that in cases of nervous dread one is only made worse by persuasions and cheering speeches.

We were shown into the room where I had before waited for old Mrs.

Bosworth, and very soon I heard the rustle of her dress in the hall.

The old lady came in with her stately manner, but I could see that trouble and watching had left their effect upon her, and it seemed to me that I could discover smothered pain in her eyes when she greeted Jessie. But she was exceedingly kind,--so gentle and caressing, that the girl soon recovered from her fright and began to look like herself.

"You will excuse my daughter's absence, I hope," the old lady said; "she is lying down. She is not very strong, and watching has quite worn her out."

"But you think your grandson better?" I asked.

"Much better; yes, much better."

There was thanksgiving in her very voice. Jessie said, tremulously,--

"We were very sorry to hear of his sickness."

"Thank you, Miss Lee; I was sure you would be."

The old lady's fingers worked nervously; I knew, in spite of her pride, what was in her heart. She longed to take Jessie in her arms, to beseech her to speak the one word that would bring her boy back to life and happiness.

"He suffers less with his head, I suppose?" I said, breaking the little pause which would soon have proved awkward.

"It is quite easy this morning; indeed, last night he slept for several hours undisturbed. He is so patient," she continued, "so gentle; but that is natural to him."

I knew she was glad to have that opportunity of praising Bosworth; she felt as if it was indirectly doing something to interest Jessie in his favor.

"It was very kind of you to come, Miss Lee," she said. "I thought you would be willing to humor a sick man's fancies, and he pined so to see all his old friends," she added, quickly, with her old-world tact, for the color began to flicker on Jessie's cheek.

"My father would have come also," said the girl, talking rapidly, "but he was obliged to go out very early; and you know my mother seldom leaves her room."

"It is sad that she should be so great an invalid," said the old d.u.c.h.ess--I must call her so. "My daughter and I go out very little. We have often wished to see more of you, but age and infirmity are by force unsocial."

"Mrs. Lee is fond of company," I said. I longed to do all I could to draw the two families together.

"Ah, if that is the case, we shall call frequently upon her. It may do her some good;" she looked at Jessie as she spoke.

"Mamma will be so pleased," she said, quite firmly; "it is very monotonous to live always shut up in her room; she is naturally very social, and to such, solitude is mournful."

"So it is; but I pity the young most! If I could only have taken my poor boy's illness in his stead."

She was checked by the entrance of an old servant, who whispered something in her ear.