Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline Part 21

"Oh," cried Dinah, with her little shout (she would not have been Dinah without that little shout), "Oh, Tessa, did you hear?"

"She is star-gazing," said Mr. Hammerton.

"It isn't a true story," pleaded Dinah. "You didn't really see him hanging by the rope and the woman looking on."

"My young friend, it is an allegory; that is what you will drive some man to some day."

"You know I won't. What is the name of that bright star?"

"It isn't a star, it's a planet."

"How do I know the difference?"

"Lady Blue knows."

"Do you call her that because her eyes are so blue or because she is a blue-stocking?"

"She is not a blue-stocking; I will not allow it. It is for her eyes."

"Gus," said Dinah, "I can't understand things."

"What things?"

"Tennyson's Dream of Fair Women."

"I shouldn't think you could. I have spent hours on it trying to make it out. You look up Marc Antony and Cleopatra-"

"As if I had to."

"Well, look up the daughter of the warrior Gileadite, and fair Rosamond, and angered Eleanor, and Fulvia, and Joan of Arc."

"And will you read it to us, and talk all about it?" cried Dinah in delight. "I like King Lear when father reads it, but I can't understand Shakespeare; he is all conversations."

Mr. Hammerton laughed, and patted her head. "I will bring you the stories that Charles and Mary Lamb gathered from Shakespeare."

"Shall we turn?" asked Tessa, slipping her hand through his arm; he instantly imprisoned her fingers. Felix would be troubled and angry she knew, even at this clasp of an old friend's hand. Jealousy was his one strong pa.s.sion; he was jealous of the books she read, of the letters she received, of every word spoken to her that he did not hear; she wondered as her fingers drew themselves free, if he would ever become jealous of her prayers.

She drew a long breath as the weight of her bondage fell heavier and heavier; and then, he was so demonstrative, so lavish of his caresses, and her ideal of a lover was one who held himself aloof, who kept his hands and his lips to himself. She sighed more than once as she kept even pace with the others.

"Has the nightingale made a mistake?" asked Mr. Hammerton, as they were crossing to the gate.

"She only made one mistake. I wonder how many I _can_ make if I do my best to make them."

Dinah opened the gate; her father's light streamed through the windows over the garden, down the path.

"Good night," said Mr. Hammerton. "Oh, I just remember, what shall I do?

I asked my cousin Mary to go to a lecture on Burns with me to-night, and I declare! I never thought of it until this minute."

"Mary Sherwood will give it to you," said Dinah. "I wonder what your wife will do with you."

"A wife's first duty is obedience," he answered.

"I'd like to see the man I'd promise to obey," said Dinah, quickly.

"I expect you would," he said gravely.

Dine darted after him to box his ears, words being impotent, and Tessa went into the house. "I think I'll pigeon-hole _this_ day and then go to bed," she said, a merry gleam crossing her eyes; "between my two walks on the planks to-day, I have lived half a lifetime. I hope Dr. Lake is asleep; I will never hurt Felix as he is hurt."

IX.-THE NEW MORNING.

Her eyes were wide open an hour before the dawn; as the faint light streamed through the east and glowed brighter and brighter along the rim of the south that she could see from her position on the pillow, she arose, wrapped a shawl about her, and went to the window to watch the new morning. On the last night of the old year she had watched the sunset standing at her western window, then the light had gone out of her life and all the world was dark; now, in the new year, her private and personal new year, the light was rising, creeping up slowly into the sky, the gold, the faint rose and the bright rose running into each other, softening, blending, glowing deeper and deeper as she watched.

This new morning that was an old morning to so many other eyes that were looking out upon it; this new morning that would be again for Dinah, perhaps, and for all the other girls that were growing up into G.o.d's kingdom on the earth! The robins in Mr. Bird's apple orchard were awake, too, and chanticleer down the road had proclaimed the opening of another new day with all his l.u.s.ty might. She wondered, as she listened and looked, if Felix were standing in the light of the morning on the porch, or he might be walking up and down the long garden path. And thanking G.o.d? She wished that she were thanking G.o.d. She was thanking Him for the light, the colors, the refres.h.i.+ng, misty air, the robins and the white and pink wealth of apple blossoms; but she was not thanking Him because Felix Harrison loved her.

"And that night they caught nothing."

The words repeated themselves with startling clearness. What connection could they possibly have with the sunrise? Oh, now she knew; it was because the fishermen had seen the Lord upon the sh.o.r.e in the morning.

_She_ had caught nothing; all her night of toil had been fruitless; she had striven and hoped and dreamed, oh, how she had dreamed of all that she would do and become! And now she could not be glad of any thing.

The years had ended in having Felix Harrison love her; that was all. She had lived her childhood and girlhood through for such a time as this.

This new year had brought more hard things to bear than any of the old years; if she could only tell some one who would care and sympathize with her and help her not only to bear but to do and to become; but her father would be justly angry and exclaim, "Madness, daughter," her mother would laugh and look perplexed, Miss Jewett would say, "O, Tessa, Tessa, I didn't think such a thing of you," and Mr. Towne-but she had no right to think of him! And Gus! He would look at her steadily and say nothing; he would be disappointed in her if he knew that she could promise with her lips, with no love in her heart save the love of regret, compa.s.sion, and contrition for all that she had so unconsciously caused him to suffer. And how could she reveal to Felix, poor Felix! the plain, cold truth! how she shrank from him as soon as she was alone and could think! how as the morning grew brighter and her world more real she shrank from him yet more and more! how the very thought of his presence, of his tight arms around her, and his smooth face close to hers gave her a feeling of repulsion that she had never felt towards any human being before! She felt that she must flee to the ends of the earth rather than to endure him. But it was done; she must keep her word; he should never guess; she would write a note and slip it into his hand to-day, he would be sure to press through the crowd towards her as she came out of church. She would write it now and be at rest. Her writing-desk stood open, pages of ma.n.u.script were laid upon it. She selected a sheet of lemon-colored note paper, and wrote a message, hurriedly, in pencil. Never afterward would she write a word upon lemon-colored paper.

"Do not come to me, dear Felix-" she hesitated over the adjective, erased the words, and dropped the sheet into her waste paper basket and found another: "Do not come to me, Felix, until I send for you, please.

I am not strong. I want to be alone. Do not think me unkind, you know that I always did like to be alone. Do not expect too much of me; I am not what you think; I am a weak, impulsive woman, too tender-hearted to be wise, or to be just towards myself or towards you. If you want me to love you, ask it of Him, who is love; do not ask it of me, I am not love. But do not be troubled, I have given my word, I am not a covenant-breaker, _I will be true_."

She folded it, not addressing it, and placed it in the pocket of the dress that she would wear to church; as she pa.s.sed the window she saw Dr. Lake driving towards home. s.h.i.+vering, although the sun was high enough to s.h.i.+ne on the apple blossoms, she crept back to bed, nestling close to sleepy Dine who loved her morning nap better than the sunrise.

Her confused thoughts ran hither and thither; she found herself repeating something that she and Mr. Hammerton had learned together years ago,

"'Yes,' I answered you last night; 'No,' this morning, sir, I say; Colors seen by candlelight Do not look the same by day."

Mr. Hammerton said that he and the Wadsworth girls had learned "miles"

of poetry together. The Harrisons were not at church. When had such a thing happened before? Her fingers were on the note in her pocket as she pa.s.sed down the aisle.

"Tessa, Tessa," whispered a loud whisper behind her, and Sue's irrepressible lips were close to her ear; "come home to dinner with me; you won't want to go to Bible cla.s.s, for Miss Jewett is down to Harrison's. Father sent for her to go early this morning."

"Why is she there?"

"Oh, somebody is sick. Felix. Dr. Lake was there in the night and father was going this morning. He was taken crazy, I believe. Come home with me, will you?"

"Very well."

She found Dine waiting for Norah, and told her that she was going home with Sue, then rejoined Sue at one of the gates.

"I'm awful lonesome Sundays," began Sue; "Aunt Jane has gone, I told you, didn't I? A cousin of hers died and left some dozens of young ones and she had to go and take care of them and console the widower. 'The unconsolable widder of Deacon Bedott will never get married again!' but she went all the same. She said that she had brought _me_ up far enough to take care of father."