the way.”
“Jessie, what is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Loring spoke in a suddenly changed voice, and coming close to her niece, looked earnestly into her face. “Here is a bad bruise on your right cheek, and another on the temple just above. And the skin is inflamed around the edges of these bruises, showing them to be recent. How came this, Jessie?”
“Bruises? Are you certain?”
“Why, yes, child! and bad ones, too.”
Mrs. Dexter looked surprised. She raised her hand to her cheek and temple, and pressing slightly, was conscious of pain.
“I believe I fainted in the parlor this afternoon,” she said; “I must have fallen to the floor.”
“Fainted! From what cause?” asked Mrs. Loring.
Mrs. Dexter was silent.
“Was it from sudden illness?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Loring was not satisfied with this brief answer. Imagination suggested some personal outrage.
“Was Mr. Dexter in the parlor when you fainted?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Why did he not save you from falling?”
“I am very cold, aunt; and my head turns. Let me lie down.” Mrs. Dexter made an effort to rise. As Mrs. Loring caught her arms, she felt them shiver. Quickly leading her to the bed, she laid her in among the warm blankets; but external warmth could not subdue the nervous chill that shook her frame in every part.
“The doctor must be sent for,” said Mrs. Loring—and she was about leaving the bedside.
“No, no, aunt!” Mrs. Dexter caught her hand, and held her back. “I want no physician—only quiet and seclusion. Have my own little room prepared for me, and let me go there to-night.”
Mrs. Loring sat down undecided, and in great perplexity of mind.
“Listen!” Some one had rung the door-bell violently.
“Aunt!” Mrs. Dexter started up and laid her hand on the arm of Mrs. Loring. “If that is Mr. Dexter, remember that I positively refuse to meet him. I am ill, as you can see; and I warn you that the agitation of a forced interview may cost me my life.”
“If it is Mr. Dexter, what shall I say? Hark! Yes! It is his step, and his voice.”
“Say that I cannot be seen, and that I have left him forever.”
“But, Jessie”—
“Aunt Loring, remonstrance is vain! I have not taken this step without a deep consciousness of being right; and no power on earth can lead me to retrace it. Let him comprehend that, in its plain significance; the sooner he does so the better will it be for both.”
“Mr. Dexter wishes to see you,” said a servant, coming to the door.
“Say that I will be down in a moment.”
Mrs. Loring stood for some time, endeavoring to collect her thoughts and calm her feelings. She then went down to the parlor.
CHAPTER XIX.
“Is Jessie here?” inquired Mr. Dexter, in a hurried manner.
“She is,” replied Mrs. Loring.
“I wish to see her.”
“Sit down, Mr. Dexter. I want to speak with you about Jessie.”
Mr. Dexter sat down, though with signs of impatience.
“What is the meaning of this? What has happened, Mr. Dexter?”
“Only a slight misunderstanding. Jessie is over sensitive. But I must see her immediately; and alone, if you please, Mrs. Loring.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Dexter, but Jessie will not see you.”
“Not see me!”
“No, Sir.”
“Go and say that I am here, and that I must see her, if only for a single moment.”
“She knows you are here, Mr. Dexter; and her message is—’Say that I cannot seen.’”
“Where is she?” Mr. Dexter moved towards the door; but Mrs. Loring, who had taken it into her head that personal abuse—a blow, perhaps—was the cause of Jessie’s flight from the residence of her husband—(she could understand and be properly indignant at such an outrage), stepping before him said—
“Don’t forget, sir, that this is my house! You cannot pass into any of its apartments unless I give permission. And such permission is now withheld. My niece is in no condition for exciting interviews. There has been enough of that for one day, I should think.”
“What do you mean? What has she said?” demanded Mr. Dexter, looking almost fiercely at Mrs. Loring.
