Part 10 (1/2)
”We will finish our promenade now that there is room to move and breathe,” he said, drawing her hand within his arm. ”I want to have a moment's talk with you before I go. I leave town early in the morning.”
The involuntary clasp of the gloved fingers upon his sleeve was all it should be, but the deprecating glance and exclamation were too frank and sisterly.
”Are you going away? Not to be absent long, I hope?”
”A week certainly--probably a fortnight.”
”I shall be very lonely without you! absolutely lost, in fact!”
replied Jessie, feeling all she said.
”I could stay, I suppose--but I ought to go,” said Orrin, slowly.
”Yes, it is the best thing left for me to do! Don't think, however, that it costs me nothing to leave Hamilton while you are in it. I shall carry the image of my docile pupil, my bright-faced, sunny-hearted friend, with me wherever I go. You have been a beautiful revelation to me, Jessie. Let me speak, for a moment, out of the sad sincerity of a spirit, wrung as I trust yours will never be. Should we never meet again upon earth, you will not cease to be to me--pshaw! what am I saying? I talk wildly to you, I doubt not, but there are times of battle and tempest and desolation in the which incoherence is pardonable. When you are married, you may be sorry for me in a calm, sisterly way, as people on the cliff above the beat of the surf, pity the wretches suffocating in the waves.”
”Let me help and comfort you now!” begged Jessie, her tell-tale eyes glistening until Orrin was fain to halt before Mr. Lowndes' monster bouquet in the last room of the suite, and keep her back to the company, while she struggled for composure. ”It breaks my heart to hear you!” came at last in a half sob from the trembling lips.
”Don't talk of breaking hearts, dear!” he returned, smiling sadly.
”It is an idle phrase in the mouths of the loved and happy. May you always be both!”
He squeezed her hands until she winced with pain, took one lingering look into her eyes that seemed to compel her soul to their surface, whispered, ”G.o.d bless you!” and before she could move to stay him, he was making his _conge_ to Mrs. Baxter.
Regardless of the stranger and inquisitive eyes that might be upon her, Jessie watched the parting; the hostess' dramatic start, and fingers joined in hospitable supplication; the toning down of her physiognomy from tragic consternation, at the announcement of his contemplated journey, to plaintive resignation, as he declared the fixedness of his purpose; marked the animated pantomime, and felt no inclination to smile that it was over-wrought to extravagance.
a.s.suredly, Orrin's going at all was a serious discomfort to herself.
Taken in connection with his evident unhappiness, his disjointed confessions of grief and trial, that, despite the absurdity of the imagination, she could not help believing had some reference to her; finally, her inability to soothe or aid him,--these all combined to make the farewell the saddest--save one--she had ever gone through.
”You are weary, my dearest girl!” said Mrs. Baxter, sympathizingly, twining her arm around her and pulling her down upon the sofa, when she had bidden a widely smiling adieu to all her guests, with the exception of a bald, mild man in spectacles, who was penned in the angle formed by the chimney and the wall, while the doctor, planted in front of him, held to his argument and his handkerchief at such length that only half the knots were yet untied. ”But you have been charming this evening! have really outdone yourself! I prognosticate a dazzling season for you--scores of conquests and troops of friends.”
”I don't care for the conquests, but the friends will be welcome to one who has so few,” returned Jessie. ”Not that I have any enemies, but my circle of acquaintances is small.”
She tried to speak brightly, lest her dispirited mood should reflect discredit upon her friend's endeavors to make her happy.
”It will enlarge rapidly within the next few weeks. The _prestige_ of Mr. Wyllys' approval and friends.h.i.+p would ensure the success of a _debutante_ whose personal claims upon popular favor were far inferior to yours, my sweet. I shall always cherish a grateful recollection of his attentions to you, as my relative and friend. It is a high compliment, as you would understand, were you better acquainted with the materials and structure of our best society. His influence in Hamilton is ex-tra-_or_-di-na-ry. I have promised to do my best to fill his place while he is away, but I am painfully conscious of my inability to prevent you from missing him continually. He was averse to going, but said the necessity laid upon him to do so was imperious. He was rather out of spirits, I fancied--but it might be _only_ a fancy. Doctor, dear! do let Mr.
Barnard come to the fire! The rooms are growing chilly, now that they are so nearly empty.”
”Empty!” The doctor turned amazed. ”Where are all the people, Jane?”
Jessie did smile now, impolite as she feared it was, at the alacrity with which the mild victim wriggled from the corner at the momentary diversion of his jailor's notice, muttered apologetically to the hostess, and got himself out of the apartment and house.
”As I was saying--” pursued the doctor, consulting his handkerchief and collecting his wits--”my objection to Darwin's theory and to the hypothesis advanced by Aga.s.siz is one and the same. I maintain--”
”Dearest husband!” interposed his wife. ”Since Mr. Barnard has followed the rest of our friends, suppose we postpone the further discussion of that point until to-morrow. Jessie and I are quite exhausted by the excitement of the evening.”
Jessie was sorry for him as he began, with a rueful visage, to disentangle his cambric and his brains.
”I hope you have had a pleasant evening,” she said, affectionately, going up to bid him ”good-night.”
His eyes cleared at sound of the frank, sweet voice, and the sight of her face. She had never been shy of him, had understood him better and sooner than young girls did generally, and made herself useful to him in many little ways. He caught himself dreaming, sometimes, in looking at and listening to her, of what his life and home might have been, if daughters of his own had graced and blessed it. Jessie had taken very kindly, on her part, to the rustic, eccentric scholar. Roy had made her acquainted with his excellences as well as his peculiarities, and bespoken for him a worthy place in her regard. He talked of ”my young friend, Professor Fordham,” to her more frequently than he was aware of, won to communicativeness by her deep and evident interest in the theme. She had not thought it best, up to this time, to reveal her engagement to him or to his talkative spouse, although Roy's last letter had gently advised her to do so, at the first favorable opportunity. The doctor might let slip the _morceau_ of news in one of his t.i.ts of abstraction, while ”Cousin Jane” would, she was sure, be in a twitter of mysterious importance, and desire to announce it formally and publicly. And Jessie, being new to the fas.h.i.+onable world, shrank from having her heart-history gossipped about. Her conscience was p.r.i.c.ked slightly now for her want of confidence in Roy's dear old co-laborer, as he laid a hand on either shoulder, and gazed steadfastly at her, his hard, Scotch lineaments softening into kindliness and paternal affection.
”You are very handsome, my dear! Do you know it?”