Wives and Widows; or The Broken Life Part 46

CHAPTER LII.

THE FATAL LETTER.

After this scene, our house was quiet as the grave--not a laugh sounded within its walls, not a brilliant word enlightened the stiff monotony.

Jessie kept her promise. Nothing could be sweeter or more gracious than her manner toward Mrs. Dennison; but all this was accompanied by no warmth. It was impossible to find fault with anything she did or said, yet her submission seemed to annoy our guest more than anything. It proved how deep was the gulf which lay between them.

As for me, nothing could render my position more disagreeable than it had already become. A few days after that scene in the library, I was sitting with Mrs. Lee, while Lottie went out for a little recreation.

Mr. Lee, Mrs. Dennison, and Jessie, had gone out on horseback, and, with the enemy away, Lottie thought that I might be trusted with her charge; but while Mrs. Dennison was in the mansion, she never would leave her post on any consideration. With all the keen longings of youth for change, this confinement, voluntary though it was, told painfully on the young girl, and when she did get a few moments of freedom, it was seized upon as a bird darts from its cage.

That morning she was gone some time, having taken a run through the grounds with a favorite dog that always followed her footsteps. I saw them rioting up and down among the flower-beds, with a feeling of thankfulness that anything on earth could find enjoyment when my heart was so heavy!

Mrs. Lee was unusually silent that day, and, without asking me to read, amused herself with a book of engravings that Mr. Lee had ordered for her from the town. I felt the change. Every day this lady, who had been my dear friend so long, seemed more and more independent of me. Lottie she still clung to, but I had become a useless waif in the household.

While thinking over these depressing truths, I watched with a vague sensation of regret. All at once I saw her stop, beat the dog back, and shade her eyes with one hand. It was only one of our people, who had been over to the town, and had attracted her observation. I saw the man beckon to her. She darted down the walk, along the sloping lawn, and over the wall, holding out her hands for a package which he held out.

There was some talk between them as the man gathered up his bridle, while she examined something in her hands which seemed like a letter.

Then, nodding her head repeatedly, she ran toward the house.

I cannot tell why it was, but these movements interested me greatly. A strange apprehension took possession of me, and I began to wonder what the letters could be about--if any of them related to me, and if new trouble was coming.

In the midst of these vague thoughts, Lottie came into the room, with a letter in her hands.

"I left all the rest, papers, books, and trash, on the hall-table," she cried, joyously; "but here's a letter for the dear mistress, and I brought it up. Such a nice letter--white and satiny as the leaves of a water-lily! I know there is something sweet and good in it that will make you smile."

She went up to Mrs. Lee, dropped on one knee at her feet--a common thing with the strange girl--and held up the letter between her hands.

Mrs. Lee took it, with a pink flush of the cheek. During her long illness she had gradually given up writing, and a letter, directly to herself, was an event sufficiently rare to create a little excitement.

Lottie's prophecy regarding the letter brought a smile to those usually pale lips. She broke the seal, took the letter from its envelope, and murmured, pleasantly,--

"If it is something very pleasant, you shall have a new dress, Lottie."

This promise kept the girl on her knees, reading the face of her mistress with keen eagerness. She saw it change as if a flash of fire pa.s.sed from neck to forehead; then a cold, gray tint settled over it so gradually, that no one could tell when it came.

Lottie sprang to her feet with a sharp cry.

Mrs. Lee had fainted--no, not that; no common fainting fit ever took a form so painful--a look of unutterable misery had settled on the face, impressive as the agony which has become immortal in the features of that marble father who strives to rescue his children from the writhing serpents in the Vatican.

Mrs. Lee had fallen sideway in her chair. The movement had been gradual, and accompanied the gray changes of her face with such stillness, that its meaning did not strike Lottie till she sprang up and uttered that cry.

We lifted the lady from her chair and laid her on the bed. She gave no sign of life, but seemed to be growing colder and colder. Lottie attempted to draw the letter from her hand, but her fingers clung to it with a tenacity which could not be forced without wounding the hand; so we left the paper in her grasp.

What we did I cannot tell. Everything that two frightened creatures could devise we attempted, in order to restore her; but it seemed to me an age before any sign of life returned.

At last a s.h.i.+ver pa.s.sed over her, and, with her disengaged hand, she tore at the muslin over her bosom as if some pain were burning at her heart, and then I saw her poor lips redden for the first time--but it was with blood. Piteously she opened her eyes and looked into ours. She had not recovered then, nor did she remember what event had produced this illness.

I could tell when the first dawn of a recollection came upon her, for she rustled the letter in her hand as if to be sure it was there, and a reality; then the pain all came back to her features, and the blood came in heavier drops up from her broken heart.

They came back from a long ride while she lay thus. We had sent for the doctor, and sat by her in helpless grief, waiting his arrival. I went out to meet Jessie, intending to break the painful intelligence of her mother's attack to her with gentleness. She was coming up the steps with a hara.s.sed look. The weight of her skirts seemed to drag at her frail strength. Mrs. Dennison was lower down the steps, looking over her shoulder at Mr. Lee, and talking in a gay, excited manner that did not seem quite natural. Jessie looked upward, with a weary, sad glance as I came down the walk, and I saw that the company of this woman was oppressing her dreadfully.

I was so pale in those days that my countenance did not frighten Jessie as it might have done in happier times; thus I was obliged to tell her in words that something had happened to injure her mother, and that she lay in great danger in the tower-room. I shall never forget the wild agony of those eyes. She did not speak a word, but pa.s.sed me like a shadow.

Mrs. Dennison's strained laugh followed her with a sound of the most cruel mockery I ever heard. It was altogether unintentional. The woman had not seen me, nor was she aware that Jessie had disappeared; she was only bantering words with her host in her usual fas.h.i.+on, while he was preparing to follow up the steps.

I stood upon the edge of the terrace and watched them as they came up.

There was no cheerfulness in the woman. Her cheeks were hot and red, her eyes full of restless fire. She understood my countenance better than Jessie had done; for a look of something like affright swept her face, and the heavy riding-skirt dropped from her hold, entangling her feet till she stumbled and almost fell.

Mr. Lee sprang forward and saved her.

"What is the matter? What has happened?" he questioned.

She laughed nervously.

"Nothing. It was Miss Hyde standing there like a Nemesis that startled me."

Mr. Lee glanced upward, and said something in an under-tone, at which she said,--

"How unkind you are to the poor thing."

I had hesitated to tell Mr. Lee that his wife was on her death-bed--the shock at my own heart was so painful that I pitied him; but now a cruel strength came over me, and I said at once, in a cold, hard way,--

"Your wife is ill, sir, very ill--I fear dying."

He left that woman standing alone in her cowardly sin, and went swiftly, as his daughter had done, toward the tower-room. Mrs. Dennison gave a light scream and followed, demanding of me how it had happened, and who had been near to harm the dear saint.

I gave her no answer. The very sound of her voice made me shudder with fresh loathing. She had been pale for a moment, but now all the fire came into her countenance again, and she pa.s.sed me haughtily, saying,--

"Stupid as ever--I will inquire for myself."

CHAPTER LIII.

DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER.

The woman did inquire, and the very sound of her voice made the poor victim on the bed shake till the counterpane moved like snow disturbed by the wind. Jessie was holding the pale hand, and, feeling it quiver, she clasped it closer, and said to Mrs. Dennison,--

"Madam, your voice troubles my mother; please to leave us alone."

Mr. Lee looked from his daughter to the woman; but it was no time for anger--he only lifted one hand to deprecate further noise, and bent over his wife with such solemn tenderness in his eyes as I had never seen there before.

"My wife, my poor wife!" he said, sheltering the frail form with his arm, as if that could keep death away.

She heard him, and the tension on her delicate nerves relaxed. The letter, which had hitherto been clenched in one hand, fell away and rustled to the floor. Mrs. Dennison picked it up, folded it deliberately, and held it toward Mr. Lee.

"This has just fallen from her hand," she said; "it may have some reference to this strange attack."