The Hand But Not the Heart | Page 4

idea of wooing,
and contending, and all that, is painfully repugnant."
"It may be," said Mrs. (sic) Dunham, "that your pride is as much at
fault in the case, as your manhood. You cannot bend to solicit love."
"I cannot--I will not!" The gesture that accompanied this was as
passionate as the surroundings would admit.
"It was pride that banished Lucifer from Heaven," said Mrs. Denison,
"and I am afraid it will keep you out of the heaven of a true marriage
here. Beware, my young friend! you are treading on dangerous ground.
And there is, moreover, a consideration beyond your own case. The
woman who can be happy in marriage with you, cannot be happy with
another man. Let us, just to make the thing clear, suppose that Jessie
Loring is the woman whose inner life is most in harmony with yours. If
your lives blend in a true marriage, then will she find true happiness;
but, if, through your failure to woo and win, she be drawn aside into a
marriage with one whose life is inharmonious, to what a sad, weary,
hopeless existence may she not be doomed. Paul! Paul! There are two
aspects in which this question is to be viewed. I pray to Heaven that
you may see it right."
Further conversation was prevented by the near approach of others.
"Let me see you, and early, Paul," said Mrs. Denison. It was some
hours later, and the company were separating. "I must talk with you
again about Miss Loring."
Hendrickson promised to call in a day or two. As he turned from Mrs.
Denison, his eyes encountered those of the young lady whose name had
just been uttered. She was standing beside Mr. Dexter, who was
officiously attentive to her up to the last moment. He was holding her

shawl ready to throw it over her shoulders as she stepped from the door
to the carriage that awaited her. For a moment or two the eyes of both
were fixed, and neither had the power to move them. Then, each with a
slight confusion of manner, turned from the other. Hendrickson retired
into the nearly deserted parlors, while Miss Loring, attended by Dexter,
entered the carriage, and was driven away.
CHAPTER II.

IT was past the hour of two, when Jessie Loring stepped from the
carriage and entered her home. A domestic admitted her.
"Aunt is not waiting for me?" she said in a tone of inquiry.
"No; she has been in bed some hours."
"It is late for you to be sitting up, Mary, and I am sorry to have been the
cause of it. But, you know, I couldn't leave earlier."
She spoke kindly, and the servant answered in a cheerful voice.
"I'll sit up for you, Miss Jessie, at any time. And why shouldn't I? Sure,
no one in the house is kinder or more considerate of us than you; and
it's quite as little as a body can do to wait up for you once in a while,
and you enjoying yourself."
"Thank you, Mary. And now get to bed as quickly as possible, for you
must be tired and very sleepy. Good-night."
"Good night, and God bless you!" responded the servant, warmly. "She
was the queen there, I know?" she added, proudly, speaking to herself
as she moved away.
It was a night in mid-October. A clear, cool, moon-lit radiant night.
From her window, Jessie could look far away over the housetops to a
dark mass of forest trees, just beyond the city, and to the gleaming river
that lay sleeping at their feet. The sky was cloudless, save at the west,

where a tall, craggy mountain of vapor towered up to the very zenith.
After loosening and laying off some of her garments, Miss Loring,
instead (sic) off retiring, sat down by the window, and leaning her head
upon her hand looked out upon the entrancing scene. She did not
remark upon its beauty, nor think of its weird attractions; nor did her
eyes, after the first glance, convey any distinct image of external
objects to her mind. Yet was she affected by them. The hour, and the
aspect of nature wrought their own work upon her feelings.
She sat down and leaned her head upon her hand, while the scenes in
which she had been for the past few hours an actor, passed before her in
review with almost the vividness of reality. Were her thoughts pleasant
ones? We fear not; for every now and then a faint sigh troubled her
breast, and parted her too firmly closed lips. The evening's
entertainment had not satisfied her in something. There was a pressure
on her feelings that weighed them down heavily.
"There is more in one sentence of his than