bird will not sing. Already the notes are few and far between; and little of the old sweetness remains.”
CHAPTER VIII.
A FEW days after the meeting between Mr. Hendrickson and Miss Loring, as just mentioned, Mr. Dexter received the following communication:
“DEAR SIR—I am scarcely well enough acquainted with you to venture this note and request; but I happen to know of something so vital to your happiness, that I cannot feel conscience-clear and not ask an interview. I shall be at home this evening.
“ALICE DENISON.”
Early in the evening, Dexter was at the house of Mrs. Denison.
“You have frightened me my dear madam!” he said, almost abruptly, as he entered the parlor, where he found her awaiting him.
“I have presumed on a slight acquaintance, Mr. Dexter, to ask an interview on a very delicate subject,” Mrs. Denison replied. “May I speak freely, and without danger of offending, when no offence is designed?”
“I have not had the pleasure of knowing you intimately, Mrs. Denison,” replied the visitor, “but it has been no fault of mine. I have always held you in high regard; and always been gratified with our passing intercourse on the few occasions it has been my privilege to meet you. That you have felt enough concern for my welfare to ask this interview, gratifies me. Say on—and speak freely. I am eager to hear.”
“You are about to marry Jessie Loring,” said Mrs. Denison.
“I am.” And Dexter fixed his eyes with a look of earnest inquiry upon the lady’s face.
Mrs. Denison had come to the subject more abruptly than she at first intended, and she was already in doubt as to her next remark; but there could be no holding back now.
“Are you sure, Mr. Dexter, that you possess her undivided heart?”
“I marvel at your question, madam!” he answered, with a start, and in a tone of surprise.
“Calmly, my friend.” And Mrs. Denison, who was a woman of remarkably clear perceptions, laid her hand upon his arm. “I am not questioning idly, nor to serve any sinister or hidden purpose—but am influenced by higher motives. Nor am I acting at the instance of another. What passes between us this evening shall be sacred. I said that I knew of something vital to your happiness; therefore I asked this interview. And now ponder well my question, and be certain that you get the right answer.”
Dexter let his eyes fall. He sat for a long while silent, but evidently in earnest thought.
“Have you her full, free, glad assent to the approaching union?” asked Mrs. Denison, breaking in upon his silence. She saw a shade of impatience on his countenance as he looked up and checked the words that were on his lips, by saying:
“Marriage is no light thing, my young friend. It is a relation which, more than any other, makes or mars the future; and when entered into, should be regarded as the must solemn act of life. Here all error is fatal. The step once taken, it cannot be retraced. Whether the path be rough or even, it must be pursued to the end. If the union be harmonious—internally so, I mean—peace, joy, interior delight will go on, finding daily increase—if inharmonious, eternal discord will curse the married partners. Do not be angry with me then, for pressing the question—Have you her full, free, glad, assent to the approaching union? If not, pause—for your love-freighted bark may be drifting fast upon the breakers—and not yours only, but hers.
“I have reason to fear, Mr. Dexter,” continued Mrs. Denison, seeing that her visitor did not attempt to reply, but sat looking at her in a kind of bewildered surprise, “that you pressed your suit too eagerly, and gained a half unwilling consent. Now, if this be so, you are in great danger of making shipwreck. An ordinary woman—worldly, superficial, half-hearted, or no-hearted—even if she did not really love you, would find ample compensation in your fortune, and in the social advantages it must secure. But depend upon it, sir, these will not fill the aching void that must be in Jessie Loring’s heart, if you have no power to fill it with your image—for she is no ordinary woman. I have observed her carefully since this engagement, and grieve to see that she is not happy. Have you seen no change?”
Mrs. Denison waited for an answer.
“She is not so cheerful; I have noticed that,” replied the young man.
“Have you ever questioned in your own mind as to the cause?”
“Often.”
“And what was the solution!”
“I remain ignorant of the cause.”
“Mr. Dexter;
“Speak, then, in Heaven’s name!”
The young man betrayed a deeper excitement than he wished to manifest. He had been struggling with himself.
“Her heart is not yours!” said Mrs. Denison, with suppressed feeling. “It is a hard saying, but I speak it in the hope of saving both you and the maiden from a life of wretchedness.”
“By what authority and under what instigation do you say this?” was demanded almost angrily. “You are going a step too far, madam!”
The change in his manner was very sudden.
“I speak from myself only,” replied Mrs. Denison, calmly.
“If her heart is not mine, whose is it?” Dexter showed strong excitement.
“I am not her confidant.”
“Who is? Somebody must speak from her, if I am to credit your assertion.”
“Calm yourself, my young friend,” said Mrs. Denison; “there are signs which a woman can read as plainly as if they were written words; and I have felt too deep an interest in this matter not to have marked every sign. Miss Loring is not happy, and the shadow upon her spirit grows darker every day. Before this engagement, her glad soul