CHAPTER LXII.

WHOLLY DESERTED.

That night I received a message from Mr. Lee, and went to him in the breakfast-room. The passions that had locked his features so fearfully still kept their hold. He was not a man to be reasoned with, or touched by appeal in that state; the ice must melt, and the storm burst, before human sympathies could reach him.

I saw this, and stood silent in his presence--silent, but with a sort of solemn courage. The worst had come, and with that thought strength always lies.

"Miss Hyde," he said, in a voice of ice, "to-morrow morning I leave this house, and in a week this country, possibly forever. I do not stop to ask how far you are to blame for the evil developed in the person who was once my child; but she loves you, and I will not deprive her of any comfort. She will be left in full possession of this place, with everything that a woman can desire. The law gives her this and more. So long as she wishes it, stay with her; for myself, I go alone, wifeless and childless."

I was about to speak, for there was a touch of regretful feeling in his voice; but he motioned me to keep silent and went on:--

"Let there be no explanation to the neighbors or servants. What has passed must rest with the four persons who parted in that library; for this secrecy I trust to you."

I bent my head and tried to speak, but could not. He looked searchingly into my face, and his stern eyes softened a little.

I went up to him, reaching forth my trembling hands; the ache of pain broke away from my heart in a flood of tears. What I said, even a word I cannot recollect; but I have the remembrance of a frail woman standing before that haughty man, with her hands clasped and tears falling down her face like rain. She was eloquent, I know; for the man's face changed gradually, and his eyes grew misty as they looked into hers. But just as an outgush of hope thrilled her heart, a name dropped from her lips--a name that she loathed, and uttered bitterly, no doubt; then all the gentle light left his face, and he was iron again. So the woman went away wounded to the soul, and with limbs that almost refused to support her. She sat up all night watching with the sick girl, while her own heart scarcely beat beneath its load of dull pain.

At daylight, this unhappy creature heard faint noises in the house; but she did not move. Then came the sound of wheels upon the terrace-road; still she sat motionless. You might have shot her through the heart, and she would not have lifted a hand to put back the threatened death.

The sound of those carriage-wheels moving away through the pine grove aroused the beautiful invalid. She started up from her pillow, and throwing out both arms toward the window, cried out,--

"Father, oh, my father!"

No one answered. Her father was gone.

We were alone now--I had no explanations to make. All the family knew that Mrs. Dennison had gone away, and all except Lottie had been informed that Mr. Lee had started on a long tour in Europe. She, good, noble girl, had been so busy caring for Jessie, that the news only reached her after Mr. Lee had been gone some hours. Then she seemed greatly disturbed, and questioned me on the subject in her usual blunt, searching way.

My conversation with Lottie passed in her own room, and I cautioned her against speaking of Mr. Lee in his daughter's presence, telling her truly that no one had an idea how ill her mistress was except ourselves.

There was something more than curiosity on the young girl's mind. I am sure of that, for she was like a wild creature, and seemed frantic to know which way Mr. Lee had gone. But no one could tell her. The coachman saw him take the train for New York, that was all he knew about it; if she wanted to find out, it was not the road Mrs. Dennison had taken. She went the other way--no disputing that. He had taken pains to inquire.

That night, notwithstanding Jessie's illness was becoming more threatening each hour, Lottie, usually so kind-hearted, called me from the room to inquire if she could be spared for a day or two, and if I could lend her ten dollars. It was a great sum, she knew, but she'd pay it back faithfully; yes, if she had to sell the brooch and ear-rings that Miss Jessie gave her out of the dear lady's things.

Shall I own it? This hard-heartedness in Lottie gave me something like hope--the girl was sharp and courageous. She had thoughts which no one could fathom, and which she was evidently hoarding for the good of her benefactors. Still, I was left, in some degree, her guardian. Should I permit her to go off on some wild adventure, only from a forlorn hope that it might benefit her young mistress?

The strange girl did not put me to the test; but judging from my hesitation that I was about to refuse her the money, flew off, saying it was no matter, maybe she should change her mind after all.

The next morning, when I inquired for Lottie, she was gone.

Three days after she came back, looking very much depressed and so cross, except in the sick-room, that all the servants in the house were complaining of her temper.

She gave no explanation of her absence, except that, directly after her return, she gave me a New York paper--one that seldom reached our household--in which Mr. Lee's name was announced among the list of passengers in a steamer that had sailed the day after he left home.

All this time Jessie had been delirious, and knew nothing of the trouble that had swept half our household away. It was a mercy. Had she comprehended everything as I did, that delicate organism, so unused to suffering of any kind, must have given way with more lamentable consequences; as it was, the young life was scarcely kept afire in her bosom.

In her delirium, Jessie was always wandering off into the past, and her pure heart broke forth in a thousand sweet fancies, in which her father and mother were always the moving spirits. Strange enough, she never once mentioned Lawrence or Mrs. Dennison, even in her wildest moments; but once, when Lottie came into the chamber, holding a bottle of perfume such as Mrs. Dennison always used, the dear girl fell back on her pillow and fainted quite away.

The moment news of Jessie's illness got abroad in the neighborhood, old Mrs. Bosworth came to see us--the dear, old motherly lady--how gentle and kind she was! There seemed to be a charm in that plump hand, with the old-fashioned diamond-rings lighting up its whiteness; for when it had rested awhile on Jessie's forehead, the dear girl would drop into a soft slumber, and awake with less tremulous nerves and a clearer brain.

At last the fever burned itself out, and Jessie awoke to a consciousness of actual life. She was too weak for any powerful emotion; and when we were at last forced to admit that her father had gone, and that we had no means of communicating with him, she only heaved a feeble sigh, and, turning her head, lay, weeping softly, on her pillow, till the very exhaustion left her calmed.

Slowly, but with a steady progress, Jessie gained her strength; and, as her mother had rested among the crimson cushions of that couch, sat one day, when Mrs. Bosworth came to spend the morning with us. We had braided her hair for the first time that morning, and prisoned its coils in a crimson net, with drops of gold in the web, and flashes of gold in the tassels. The reflection of its rich Magenta tints gave a faint color to her cheeks; her white morning dress, with its profusion of Valenciennes lace about the sleeves and bosom, lost its chilly look under a rich India shawl that we had folded over it. Indeed, altogether, the dear child looked so like herself, that we were rejoicing over her when the old lady came in.

They had become very good friends during those sick-hours--that dear old duchess and our Jessie. So when the lady came in, rustling across the floor like a rich autumn, our invalid smiled almost for the first time since her illness, and held out her hand.

I was in the habit of leaving Mrs. Bosworth and Jessie to themselves, and was stealing from the room, when the old lady called me back.

"Come, Miss Hyde," she said, "help me to gain a favor of our child. She is looking so well, her hand feels so cool; do you think a little company would harm her?"

Jessie colored faintly and lifted her eyes to the old lady's face.

"He has been here every day--don't start, dear! What was more natural than that an old lady like me should want the care of a man strong enough to help her if her staff gives way? Nothing has been done that could wound you; but he is very anxious--and now that you are so well, and looking so pretty, what if we let him come up? Eh, Miss Hyde?"

Before I could answer, Lottie had left the room; with a chuckle and a leap she cleared the staircase, and, finding young Bosworth in the square balcony, presented Miss Hyde's compliments, and desired him to walk up to the tower-chamber.

I was going down to perform the same ceremony, in a different way, when Lottie met me on the stairs. I stopped on the landing to let the young gentleman pass; Lottie followed, opened the door, closed it softly, and came back.

"What's the use of shuffling about in this way?" she said. "She wants him to go up, and he wants to go. When people want a good slide down hill, what's the use of putting jumpers in the way? I'm getting sick of your notions, Miss Hyde. Wouldn't give a copper for delicacy; and as for honor, see what it's done. Don't talk to me!"

With a sort of Jim-Crow step, Lottie whirled about on the landing, gave a leap down three stairs at a time, and went off somewhat in her former style.

I was glad to see a dash of the old spirit coming back to the strange creature; but a moment after I looked out and saw her crying like a child, behind one of the large garden vases. After all, there was no real cheerfulness about Lottie. Spasmodic flashes of her nature would break out, but at heart she mourned continually.