Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life. Ann S. Stephens
cheerful?"
"Why, marm, I'm the cheerfullest creature on these premises. You may count in the squirrels, rabbits, and robins, and after that, I can say it."
Mrs. Lee turned her eyes on her husband, who sat near her couch, greatly amused by the dialogue.
"What do you think? She seems bright, and I dare say will try her best."
"At any rate, she promises to be amusing," answered Mr. Lee, and a good-natured smile quivered about his lips.
"And kind-hearted, I will answer for that, don't you think so, Martha?"
"I am sure of it."
As the words left my lips, Lottie made a pe at me, took my hand in both hers, and kissed it with a wild outgush of feeling. "You're good as gold, silver, and diamonds," she said. "I was sure that you would be on my side, though you do look as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Tell me just what to do about the lady, and see if I don't come up to the mark. It's in me, I know that."
Mrs. Lee closed her eyes wearily; even this short conversation was too much for her weak nerves.
"Go down-stairs now," I said to the girl in a low voice; "by-and-by you shall be told about your duties. The first and greatest is quietness."
She nodded her head, put a finger to her lips, and went out of the room on tiptoe.
Mrs. Lee opened her eyes as the girl went out, and beckoned to Jessie.
"Do you like that strange little orphan?" she questioned.
"Like her? indeed I do, mamma," said the kind-hearted girl. "She is so warm, so earnest, and uses such queer words. But Aunt Martha will cure her of that. I was just thinking how pleasant it would be to teach her."
"That is a good idea, child; who knows what we may do for her?"
Here Mrs. Lee turned upon her cushions a little wearily, and from that time, Lottie became her attendant.
Now our domestic life began in earnest. Mrs. Lee's disease was not often painful, nor immediately dangerous. Contented with the love that surrounded her, she fell gently into the invalid habits, which had something pleasant in them when incited by a home like that.
For my part, I knew no more attractive spot than her room. There Jessie took her lessons in the morning, and in the afternoon, Mr. Lee always sat with us, reading to her while we worked or studied. Never in this world, I do think, was a family more closely united, or that seemed so completely uplifted from care or trouble as ours.
Sometimes Mrs. Lee would regret what she called the waste of my youth in her daughter's behalf, but I had no such feeling. Society was nothing to me, while those I loved so dearly were part of my every-day life. Of course I had seen my share of social life in Europe, had met many agreeable people, and knew what it was to be admired—perhaps loved—but my heart had never, for one moment, swerved from its old affections. Ardently as in my childhood, I loved those two first and last friends. As for "Our Jessie," I cannot trust myself to speak of her. If ever one human being adored another, I adored that bright, beautiful girl. They talked of sacrifices; why, it would have broken my heart had Jessie been taken from me and sent to school. Of course, we had plenty of society, the best people from the town visited us often, and sometimes an old friend whom we had met on our travels would find us out. But Mrs. Lee's state of health precluded much hospitality, and so we were left almost entirely to the quiet home-life which all of us loved so well.
Thus months and years rolled on, stealing the freshness and bloom from me, and giving them tenfold to my darling.
If I have dwelt somewhat at length on my early life, it is not because I am attempting to give prominence to my own feelings or actions, but that the reader may understand how intense and all-absorbing a feeling of affectionate gratitude may become—how it may color and pervade a whole existence.
In my helpless orphanage, two noble young people had found me lonely, despondent, and almost friendless. At once, without question or reservation, they took me into their hearts and gave me a permanent home. Now that my benefactress had fallen into entire dependence upon those she loved for happiness, was it strange that I stood ready to give up my youth for her and her beautiful child?
This generous woman was forever speaking of my action as a noble sacrifice. But to my thinking it was happiness in itself. I loved to watch what might have been my own life, dawning brightly in the youth of Jessie Lee; and when her first lover appeared, I was almost as much interested as the girl herself, who was, in fact, quite unconscious, for a long time, that the young man loved her at all.
He was a splendid young fellow, though, and even "Our Jessie" might have been proud of the conquest she had unconsciously made.
Young Bosworth was the grandson of a fine old lady, born in England, I think, who inhabited the large stone house I have spoken of as forming a picturesque feature in the landscape, on the day I was rescued from the adder. He was interested in an iron company near the town, financially, and was about to enter into active business in the partnership, having just completed his minority. His business brought him frequently to our house, for Mr. Lee was considered a safe adviser in such matters; thus an intimacy sprung up between the young man and "Our Jessie" just when the first bloom of her girlhood was deepening into the rare beauty for which she was so remarkable in after-years.
But Jessie was all unconscious of the love that I could detect in every glance of those fine eyes, and in every tone of the voice that grew tender and musical whenever it addressed her. Indeed, the young man took no pains to conceal the feelings that seemed to possess him entirely. No one but a person utterly innocent and unconscious of her own attractions could have remained an hour ignorant of such devotion.
I think Jessie liked this man, and if nothing had happened to intervene, that liking would have ripened gently into love, as fruit exposed to the sweet dews of night and the warm noonday sun, ripens and grows crimson so gradually that we mark the result without observing the progress.
But something did happen, which not only interrupted the pleasant relations which had been established between this young man and our family, but which broke up all the quiet and happiness of our domestic life.
Hitherto our lives had been so tranquil that there was little to describe. We had, to an extent, isolated ourselves from the general world, and so surrounded ourselves with blessings, that the one misfortune of our lives had proved almost a beneficence, for Mrs. Lee's illness had only drawn us closer together. But all was to be changed now.
CHAPTER VII.
OUT IN THE WORLD.
When Jessie reached her eighteenth year, Mrs. Lee became more languid than usual, and early in the season her physician suggested a few weeks at the sea-side.
I think the dear lady was induced to follow his advice from a desire to give our girl a glimpse of the life which should have been opened to her about that time, rather than from any hopes of benefit from sea-bathing. She entered into the project at once, and brightened visibly under the influence of Jessie's openly expressed enthusiasm. The dear girl had in reality seen nothing of life, and she was happy as a bird at the prospect of entering what seemed to her like an enchanted land.
Late in June, that year, we went to Long Branch upon the Jersey shore, and there among the crowd of fashionables from Philadelphia and New York, a new life opened to our Jessie, whose wealth and exceeding beauty soon made her an object of general admiration.
I cannot tell you how we first became acquainted with Mrs. Dennison. She was a Southern woman, about whom there was a vague reputation of wealth inherited from an old man, whom she had married in his dotage, and of a very luxurious life which had commenced so soon after the funeral as to create some scandal. She was certainly a very beautiful woman, tall, exquisitely formed, lithe and graceful as a leopardess.