sentiments on both sides that gave the whole subject a new aspect.
A very difficult problem now presented itself to the mind of Mr. Hendrickson, involving questions of duty, questions of honor, and questions of feeling. It is not surprising that Miss Arden found a change in her travelling companion, nor that her visit to Niagara proved altogether unsatisfactory. No one could have been kindlier, more attentive, or more studious to make her visit attractive. But his careful avoidance of all compliments, and the absence of every thing lover-like, gave her heart the alarm. It was in vain that she put forth every chaste, womanly allurement; his eyes did not brighten, nor his cheeks glow, nor his tones become warmer. He was not to be driven from the citadel of his honor. A weaker, more selfish, and more external man, would have yielded. But Hendrickson, like the woman he had lost, was not made of “common clay,” nor cast in any of humanity’s ruder moulds. He was of purer essence and higher spiritual organization than the masses; and principle had now quite as much to do with his actions as feeling. He could be a martyr, but not a villain.
Two days were spent at Niagara, and then Hendrickson and Miss Arden returned, and went to Saratoga. It did not, of course, escape the notice of Hendrickson, that his manner to his travelling companion was effecting a steady change in her spirits; and he was not lacking in perception as to the cause. It revealed to him the sincerity of her regard; but added to the pain from which he was suffering, increasing it almost to the point where endurance fails.
It was a relief to Hendrickson when he was able to place Miss Arden under the care of her mother, who had remained at Saratoga. On the evening after his arrival, he was sitting alone in one of the drawing-rooms, when a lady crossed from the other side, and joined another lady near him.
“Mrs. De Lisle,” said the latter, as she arose.
“Good evening, Mrs. Anthony!” and the ladies sat down together.
“I have just received a sad letter from Newport,” said Mrs. De Lisle.
“Indeed! What has happened there?”
“Our sweet young friend is dangerously ill.”
“Who? Mrs. Dexter?”
“Yes.”
“Mrs. De Lisle! She was in perfect health, to all appearance, when she left here.”
“So I thought. But she has suddenly been stricken down with a brain fever, and her physicians regard her condition as most critical.”
“You distress me beyond measure!” said Mrs. Anthony.
“My friend writes that three physicians are in attendance; and that they report her case as dangerous in the extreme. I did not intend going there until next week, but, unless my husband strongly objects, I will leave to- morrow. Good nursing is quite as essential as medical skill.”
“Go, by all means, if you can,” replied Mrs. Anthony. “Dear child! I shouldn’t wonder if that jealous husband of hers had done something to induce this attack. Brain fever don’t come on without mental excitement of some kind. I can’t bear him; and I believe, if the truth were known, it would be found that she hates the very sight of him. He’s a man made of money; and that’s saying the best that can be said. As to qualities of the mind and heart, she ranks, in everything, his superior. What a sacrifice of all that such a woman holds dear must have been made when she consented to become the wedded wife of Leon Dexter!”
Hendrickson heard no more, for a third party coming up at the moment, led to a change in the conversation. At the same instant Mrs. Arden and her daughter entered the room, and he arose and stepped forward to meet them.
“How pale you look, Mr. Hendrickson!” said Mrs. Arden, with concern. “Are you not well?”
“I have not felt as bright as usual, for some days,” he answered, trying to force a smile, but without success. “Your daughter has, no doubt, already informed you that I proved myself one of the dullest of travelling companions.”
“Oh, no,” Miss Arden spoke up quickly. “Ma knows that I gave you credit for being exceedingly agreeable. But, indeed, Mr. Hendrickson, you look ill.”
“I am slightly indisposed,” he answered, “and with your leave will retire to my room. I shall feel better after lying down.”
“Go by all means,” said Mrs. Arden.
Hendrickson bowed low, and, passing them, left the parlor almost hurriedly.
“Dangerously ill! A brain fever!” he said aloud, as he gained his own apartment and shut the door behind him. He was deeply disturbed. That their unexpected meeting had something to do with this sudden sickness he now felt sure. Her strong, though quickly controlled agitation he had seen; it was a revelation never to be forgotten; and showed the existence of a state of feeling in regard to her husband which must render her very existence a burden. That she was closely watched, he had seen, as well as heard. And it did not appear to him improbable, considering the spirit he had observed her display, that coincident with his departure from Newport, some jealous accusations had been made, half maddening her spirit, and stunning her brain with excitement.
“Angel in the keeping of a fiend!” he exclaimed, as imagination drew improbable scenes of persecution. “How my heart aches for you—yearns towards you—longs for the dear privilege of making all your paths smooth and fragrant; all your hours golden-winged; all your states peaceful! How precious you are to me! Precious as my own soul—dear counterpart! loving complement! Vain, as your own strife with yourself, has been my strife. The burden has been too heavy for us; the ordeal too fiery. My brain grows wild at thought of this terrible wrong.”
The image of Miss Arden flitted before him.
“Beautiful—loving—pure!” he said, “I might win you for my bride; but will not so wrong you as to offer a divided heart. All things forbid!”
Mr. Hendrickson did not leave his room that evening. At ten o’clock a servant knocked at his door. Mrs. Arden had sent her compliments, and desired to know if he were better than when he left her?
“Much better,” he answered; and the servant departed.
