“Not madly, but soberly,” she answered. “There is an unpardonable sin against a virtuous wife, and you have committed it. Forgiveness is impossible. I wish to see my aunt. Will you send for her, Mr. Dexter?”
“It was a dark day for me, Jessie, when I first looked upon your face,” said Mr. Dexter.
“And darker still for me, sir. Yet, after my constrained marriage, I tried, to the best of my ability, to be all you desired. That I failed, was no fault of mine.”
“Nor mine,” was answered.
“Let us not make matters worse by crimination and recrimination,” said Mrs. Dexter. “It will take nothing from our future peace to remember that we parted in forbearance, instead of with passionate accusation.”
“You are surely beside yourself, Jessie!” exclaimed Mr. Dexter.
She turned her face away, and made no response.
Dexter was frightened. “Could it be possible,” he asked himself, “that his wife really purposed a separation?” The fact loomed up before his imagination with all of its appalling consequences.
A full half hour passed, without a word more from the lips of either. Then Mr. Dexter quietly retired from the room. He had no sooner done this, than Mrs. Dexter arose from the bed, and commenced making changes in her dress. Her face was very white, and her movements unsteady, like the movements of a person just arisen from an exhausting sickness. There was some appearance of hurry and agitation in her manner.
About an hour later, and just as twilight had given place to darkness, Mrs. Loring who was sitting with her daughters, lifted her eyes from the work in her hands, and leaned her head in a listening attitude. The door bell had rung, and a servant was moving along the passage. A moment of suspense, and then light steps were heard and the rustling of a woman’s garments.
“Jessie!” exclaimed Mrs. Loring, as Mrs. Dexter entered the sitting-room. She was enveloped in a warm cloak, with a hood drawn over her head. As she pushed the latter from her partly hidden face, her aunt saw a wildness about her eyes, that suggested, in connection with this unheralded visit of the feeble invalid, the idea of mental derangement. Starting forward, and almost encircling her with her arms, she said—
“My dear child! what is the meaning of this visit? Where is Mr. Dexter? Did he come with you?”
“I am cold,” she answered, with a shiver. “The air is piercing.” And she turned towards the grate, spreading her hands to the genial warmth.
“Did Mr. Dexter come with you?” Mrs. Loring repeated the question.
“No; I came alone,” was the quietly spoken answer.
“You did not walk?”
“Yes.”
“Why, Jessie! You imprudent child! Does Mr. Dexter know of this?”
There was no reply to this question.
“Aunt Phoebe,” said Mrs. Dexter, turning from the fire, “can I see you alone?”
“Certainly, dear,” and placing an arm around her, Mrs. Loring went with her niece from the room.
“You have frightened me, child,” said the aunt, as soon as they were alone. “What has happened? Why have you come at this untimely hour, and with such an imprudent exposure of your health?”
“
“Home, Jessie?” Mrs. Loring was bewildered.
“I have no other home in the wide world, Aunt Phoebe.” The sadness of Jessie’s low, steady voice, went deep down into the worldly heart of Mrs. Loring.
“Child! child! What
“Simply, that I have come back to you again—to die, I trust, and that right early!”
“Where is Mr. Dexter? What has happened? Oh, Jessie! speak plainly!” said Mrs. Loring, much agitated.
“I have left Mr. Dexter, Aunt Phoebe.” She yet spoke in a calm voice. “And shall not return to him. If you will let me have that little chamber again, which I used to call my own, I will bless you for the sanctuary, and hide myself in it from the world. I do not think I shall burden you a long time, Aunt Phoebe. I am passing through conflicts and enduring pains that are too severe for me. Feeble nature is fast giving way. The time will not be long, dear aunt!”
“Sit down, child! There! Sit down.” And Mrs. Loring led her niece to a chair. “This is a serious business, Jessie,” she added, in a troubled voice. “I am bewildered by your strange language. What does it mean? Speak to me plainly. I am afraid you are dreaming.”
“I wish it were a dream, aunt. But no—all is fearfully real. For causes of which I cannot now speak, I have separated myself from Mr. Dexter, and shall never live with him again. Our ways have parted, and forever.”
“Jessie! Jessie! What madness! Are you beside yourself? Is this a step to be taken without a word of consultation with friends?”
Mrs. Loring, as soon as her mind began clearly to comprehend what her niece had done, grew strongly excited. Mrs. Dexter did not reply, but let her eyes fall to the floor, and remained silent. She had no defence to make at any human tribunal.
“Why have you done this, Jessie?” demanded her aunt.
“Forgive my reply, Aunt Phoebe; I can make no other now.
