CHAPTER 4 The Withered Heart!
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"Lean not on earth — twill pierce you to the heart,
A broken reed at best, but oft a spear;
On its sharp point peace bleeds, and hope expires."
On the following Sunday, one teacher was missing from school, who had never been away from her post since she assumed the holy office of lifting the thoughts of little children upwards towards Heaven. This absence was noted, and the questions, "Where can she be?" "Is she sick?" — and the like, passed from lip to lip. The superintendent had no satisfactory reply for any of the queries made to him on the subject. It was moreover observed by many, that he had a depressed, troubled aspect; and that his duties were performed with scarcely anything of his accustomed ardour.
Jane had appeared at church in the morning with her parents; after the service, however, she had failed to linger, as was sometimes the case, to meet a congenial friend, but had hurried away, so that when Mr. Hardy gained the vestibule of the church, she was nowhere to he seen. Her non-appearance at school in the afternoon, he regarded as an ill omen.
On the following Sunday the young man, in a state of nervous suspense, waited at the church door, a thing unusual with him, in the hope of receiving at least one glance from the beautiful eyes of Miss Enfield; and this glance was thrown upon him. The close veil was partially drawn aside, as she came up the broad stone stairway into the vestibule, and one ray of intelligence sent as a messenger of love to his heart, giving to every nerve of his being a delicious thrill.
"I can wait now," he said within himself, as he entered the church and made his way to his own seat.
"Her heart is true as the needle. That glance has scattered all doubt to the wind. She is mine — mine — mine!"
The failure of Miss Enfield to appear in her place at the school that afternoon did not seriously trouble the superintendent. He ascribed it to the right cause — a maidenly delicacy which made her shrink from meeting him under the circumstances I already alluded to.
At the expiration of the period named by Mr. Enfield, the young merchant called to receive the answer to his proposal. It was favourable — more favourable, however, in appearance than in reality. Mr. Enfield was very far from being satisfied. He did not believe that his daughter would be happy with Mr. Hardy — as a woman should be happy in married life. He did not believe him to be one who had a just perception of woman's nature, or who was capable of appreciating her needs. But the handsome, specious, courteous lover had, it was clearly seen, already made too deep an impression on Jane's mind to leave any hope for a successful opposition. And so, after many long, sad, and perplexing conferences between the father and mother, it was decided to let things take their course.
For nearly a year after consent was yielded on the part of Mr. and Mrs. Enfield, they managed to defer the period of their daughter's marriage, all the while cherishing a faint hope that something would occur to prevent the fulfilment of a betrothal which had, in their opinion, no golden promise. During this year, Mr. Hardy was observed with eyes possessing a deeper intuition than he imagined possible; and phases of his character were seen which he little suspected that anyone could discern. The confidence of possession threw him more off his guard; and natural impulses imaged themselves with more and more truthfulness in the ordinary actions of his life.
Mr. Enfield discovered, to his dismay, that below the fair, attractive surface of the young man — was a cold, selfish spirit, that with a steady, scarcely perceived, but never intermitted gravitation, drew everything to the centre of his life, and made all things minister to his will — that, in private, as well as in public, he acted freely only where he could keep things under his own control — that although he was not given to contention, and rarely, if ever, sought to gain his ends by open, manly, outspoken opposition to the opinions or modes of action suggested by others — he yet often seemed to yield when, in reality, he was but devising the hidden means for carrying out his own views, and that in a manner so unobtrusive, as not to disturb the placid current in which events were flowing.
There was another fact, the discovery of which filled the mind of Mr. Enfield with gloomy forebodings. Almost imperceptibly, a change was coming over the mind of his daughter. The girlish cheerfulness, lost for a time on the death of her sister, had come back with all its sweet influences; but now it was again passing away — passing, the father believed, never more to return. So far as he could see, the conduct of her lover was not marked by any disregard for her wishes; and yet it often happened that she was pensive — to use no stronger word — after meeting him, and passing a few hours in his company.
As the day finally appointed for the marriage drew near, Jane's spirits were depressed rather than elated; and to the frequent congratulations of friends on account of the approaching nuptials, she rarely responded with any degree of warmth. It was no uncommon thing for her mother, if coming upon her suddenly, to find her in tears; and when questioned as to the reason, she always answered with evasion.
"I fear, my child," her mother said to her, a few weeks before the time when the marriage rites were to be celebrated; "I fear that something is wrong." She had found her weeping. "Will you not open all your heart to me? If there has been any error in regard to the true state of your own feelings — if Mr. Hardy is not really loved as a woman should love the man who is to be her life-companion — "
"Dear mother!" exclaimed the daughter, breaking in upon the sentence, and looking up into her face, while a light beaming from her countenance glistened in the tears that were falling over her cheeks, "No woman ever loved more deeply, more truly, than I love; and I can imagine no path in life that would not lead through a wilderness, were he not by my side. No, mother; do not doubt my heart. It is true in every impulse."
"Then why is it, my precious child! that I so often find you in tears? Why are you so changed? so unhappy?"
"I am not unhappy!" Jane spoke with surprise in her voice.
"You are not as you were. There is a shadow on your feelings. You are much alone — are silent — often weep. Ah, my child! these are not the signs of happiness."
"Marriage is a very solemn thing, mother."
Jane spoke in a low voice, full of emotion and full of meaning.
"It is, my dear girl," was the simple response.
"And as I approach the hour when I am to take upon myself those solemn vows and sacred duties, I feel a shrinking and trembling that grow more oppressive every hour. Dear mother! what if I should fail to be to my husband all that he anticipates? What if I should disappoint him, and he should turn from me coldly, as one not worthy of his love? The thought haunts me daily, disturbs my sleep, and fills my eyes with tears! If it should prove thus, my heart would break. I could not live if he grew cold towards I me — if he were ever to regard me with indifference!"
"These are unreal fears, my child," replied Mrs. Enfield. "Do not cherish them a single moment; for it sometimes happens that, by cherishing the unreal, we give to it an actual existence.
A loving heart will keep alive responsive feelings; and a wife who truly loves, and truly desires to bless her husband, cannot, unless in strangely exceptional cases, fail to receive her reward."
Jane sighed deeply. After a moment or two, she said, "The lot of an unloved wife, mother! Oh! is it not a terrible thing? Death would be, instead, a sweet consummation."
"How strangely you talk, my child! What is the meaning of it?" asked Mrs. Enfield. "Can it be that you have reason to question the love Mr. Hardy bears for you?"
"Oh, no — no — no, mother!" was almost wildly answered, "not the shadow of a reason. I know that he loves me with his whole heart. I know that I am very dear to him, and that he will do all in his power to make me happy. But, mother" — and she spoke more calmly, "men have a different mental organization from that of women. We are very unlike each other, and cannot always comprehend each other's states and feelings."
"True, my love."
"I do not think I always understand Mr. Hardy; and I am afraid he does not always understand me."'
"Time, and closer union, will enable you to understand each other better," said Mrs. Enfield.
Jane sighed again, as she remarked —
"Ah! it is that closer union, involving a closer vision, that I strangely fear. Shall I be to him then, as I am now? Coldness, indifference, blame, would kill me outright!"
"Do not keep your high ideal of the married life so distinctly before your mind," said Mrs. Enfield. "None are perfect here — and there are few perfectly happy marriages. Do not expect too much. Be ready to yield forbearance, as you must receive it. Mr. Hardy is a human being with hereditary evils to overcome — not a purified spirit in Heaven. He cannot be always the same to you, nor can he always present the same loving aspect; for in the purification and elevation, through which I trust he is passing, changing moods are inevitable, and you must be prepared for them, and meet them with patience and fortitude. After every evening of shadows and depression — will follow the morning, with its cheering light; and if the evening is spent in prayer and hope, instead of in gloomy repining, the morning will be all the brighter, and the day that follows will be the longer. The path of life winds not always among flowers, my child. The dreary desert must be passed, as well as the fragrant meadows. The Pilgrims dwelt not always upon the delectable mountains."
"Ah, mother!" replied Jane, weeping freely; "I know it must all be as you say. What I fear is, the failure of strength to endure the roughness and trials of the way."
"It is from the Strong, that we receive strength. 'As the day may demand — shall our strength ever be.' Do not doubt — do not tremble — do not fear. If the deeper and sometimes sadder experiences of life bring pain to the mind, they also give new capacities for enjoyment. There is a blessed compensativeness in every life-relation. Even when the all-eclipsing sun has withdrawn, and left the night to reign for a season — the firmament has still its myriads of stars."
In such a conference, almost on the eve of the wedding-day, how little was there, alas! for a spirit so delicately organized as that of Jane Enfield, to rest upon in hopeful anticipations. The words of her mother did not throw a single ray upon the future, nor give any new strength to her heart; but rather oppressed her with a vague sense of coming evil.
The approaching nuptials gave to the lovers a more unreserved intimacy. Mr. Hardy came very frequently to the house; while Mr. Enfield encouraged his visits and intimacy, in order to read him the more closely. As the young man, from feeling more and more at home in the family, indulged in greater freedom of action, so that his outer appearance gave a more exact image of his inner life — Jane was constantly made sensible of one strong point of contrast between him and her father. Very gentle, very thoughtful, and very tender was Mr. Enfield in his paternal relation. He never met his daughter without a pleasant word, nor left her without a parting kiss. Every one of her acts, which in any way involved a service, was sure to have its reward in some approving acknowledgment. Thus was she stimulated to a daily thoughtfulness in regard to his comfort, and a daily consultation of his tastes. Not so with her lover. Mr. Hardy rarely praised. If she sang his favourite pieces — and she did sing with rare perfection — he filled the following silence with no warmly admiring words. He frequently asked her to play or sing, and he really enjoyed her exquisite performance; but the closing of the piece was more frequently followed by a request for another, than by any remark upon that which had been given. If he expressed approval, it was oftener of the composer, than of the singer — oftener of the piece, than of the charming execution.
Jane never sang without entering, with all the rare perceptions of a truly poetic mind, into the sentiment expressed in the song, and all her heart's emotions were perceived in her voice. She felt the beauty, pathos, or inspiration of the words, and uttered them as from her very heart. The lack of all truly appreciative response on the part of her lover, stimulated her to even higher achievements; but the result was not changed. Her performances struck him as most exquisite, and he felt a glow of pride as he thought how far, as his wife, she would eclipse the common crowd. Even while she was listening eagerly for some spoken approval, he was mentally picturing the admiration she would excite, and the exultation he would feel!
In dress, Jane exhibited a rare and delicate taste. This, also, Mr. Hardy saw; yet, strangely enough, he never indicated, in any way, his appreciation of the fact. But if the slightest lack of harmony in colour, or the slightest apparent deviation from taste in any portion of her attire met his glance — he was sure to remark upon it, after they had become more intimate; nor was this always done in choicely selected words. His pride in the rarely endowed maiden was, we fear, stronger than his love for her. She was to be the minister of his pleasures, the agent of his worldly ambition; and, in dreaming of this, he forgot that she had a hungering and a thirsting spirit, which would droop and die if the bread and wine of life were not given to her freely.
No wonder that, as Jane Enfield approached nearer and nearer to the wedding-day, her heart grew faint, and she sometimes wished that she might die. Yet never did woman love with more intensity of feeling. Up to her betrothed she looked, as to a purer being, possessed of all man's superior endowments; and his failure to give the warm approval, for which her spirit so longed and prayed, was rather attributed to actual deficiencies in herself — a failing, on her part, to attain the high standard of excellence which he expected in the woman who was to be his life-companion — than to coldness or indifference to her state of feeling.
And so the time moved on, until the marriage-hour arrived, and the beautiful, accomplished, and loving girl, completed the sweet cycle of her maidenhood, and entered the new and higher sphere towards which she had advanced with trembling hope and fear.
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