CHAPTER 6 The Withered Heart!
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Mr. Hardy lifted in his arms, the insensible body of his wife, and laid it upon the bed. He was startled, pained, and alarmed, as well he might be; but not to the extent most readers would imagine. Of a very equable temperament, he was never greatly moved by any sudden occurrences, no matter what their character; and rarely was the equilibrium of his mind disturbed.
In the present case, instead of calling Mr. and Mrs. Enfield, he began chafing the hands and arms of his insensible wife, sprinkling her face with water, and using such other restorative means as occurred to him. Nearly ten minutes were spent in these efforts, before the smallest sign of life appeared; and then the returning pulse beat very feebly under the pressure of his searching fingers.
The father and mother were now summoned. To them the condition of their child was appalling. Never had they seen her in such a state; for never, even in severe illness and its consequent debility, had the life-forces of her being been for a moment suspended. Their eager inquiries elicited no satisfactory reply from Mr. Hardy. The utmost they could learn from him was, that while they were conversing, he noticed an unusual pallor in her face, and that soon after, her eyes closed, and she fell forward into his arms. It was, doubtless, a "mere fainting fit," he said; and he urged the parents not to feel needless alarm.
There was far less of comfort, far less of hope, in his almost calmly spoken words, than the young man supposed. That he should appear so little disturbed under the circumstances, surprised Mr. and Mrs. Enfield, and awakened vague suspicions in their minds.
"Oh! run for the doctor! quickly! quickly!" exclaimed the mother, as soon as the first bewilderment passed away, and she could think at all.
"Don't be frightened," said Mr. Hardy. "It will scarcely be necessary to call in the doctor, for she is gradually recovering. It is only a fainting fit. See, her eyelids are quivering, and there is a motion in her lips and hands. It will be over in a few moments. Do not be alarmed."
As he spoke, a low, sad murmur breathed through her lips; it had the vagueness of a dreamy sound.
"Jane! Jane! Dear child!" The lips of the mother almost touched the ear of her daughter; and her tones were eager, and trembling with love and pity. Only the sad moaning sound was repeated; but it was less vague, and more fraught with a living anguish.
"Jane, dear! My daughter! Speak, if you hear me." It was the father who now addressed her.
The sound of his voice seemed to penetrate the shut door of her spirit. Her eyes slowly opened; for a moment or two she looked from face to face of the anxious group bending over her, and then throwing her arms around her father's neck, sobbed out —
"Father! father! Oh, father!"
"My dear, precious child! what ails you?"
"Jane! Dear love!" The mother bent close to her, and kissed her tenderly.
"You are better now," said Mr. Hardy, laying his hand upon her damp forehead, and smoothing back the hair which had fallen over its polished surface. He spoke in an even voice. Mr. Enfield was struck with the apparent lack of emotion in the young husband, under circumstances so deeply distressing to himself. Jane did not seem to notice his presence.
Gradually life and consciousness were restored; but not to the full extent. To the many questions of her parents, concerning the cause of her sudden illness, Jane gave no reply. After the first startled recognitions of those who were standing around, her mind seemed to relapse into a torpid, semi-conscious state. Her countenance remained very pale; and its whole expression was that of intense mental suffering.
Mr. and Mrs. Enfield were distressed beyond measure; and it is but justice to say of Mr. Hardy, that he was deeply troubled. His state of feeling, and his thoughts on the subject, were, however, widely different from theirs. He viewed the case before him from a stand-point of his own; and, as painful as the trial was, he resolved not to recede a single step from the position he had assumed. It was, as he conceived, only a simple struggle for the mastery; and he even went so far in his conclusions as to assume, that baffled self-will had quite as much to do with his wife's present condition, as any other feeling! In this he was sincere. But he was not the man to yield in any struggle for right or predominance. Let the contest be long or short — he was determined to maintain his ground to the end.
"I did not expect this," he said to himself, as he left the house on seeing Jane well near recovered from her fainting fit, and took his way to his office. "I did not expect this of her — one who, in all her maidenly fellowship, has been so gentle, so loving, so ready to concede, so yielding in all that concerned herself. Ah! woman! woman! you are indeed a riddle most difficult of solution! How soon have the roses, dropped from your gentle hands, become thorns in my path!"
When Mr. Hardy returned at dinner-time, he found his wife entirely recovered. She was alone in her room, and received him with a flitting smile on her still pale face. He kissed her as he sat down by her side; and taking her hand in his, inquired tenderly as to her health.
"Oh, I am very well now," she replied, endeavouring to speak cheerfully, and to wear a pleasant smile. The smile and tone, however, were but a mockery. Mr. Hardy tried to converse with her on subjects in which, heretofore, both of them had been interested, but he failed to awaken any warm response. This did not soften his feelings; for he called that woman's perverseness, which was simply a resultant condition of mind, and impossible for her to cast off. He even permitted himself to charge her in his thoughts, with acting a part in order to gain him over to her will. This idea hardened him towards her, and widened the breach between them. In the evening the state of things was but slightly improved. Jane did not come down to the tea-table, and Mr. and Mrs. Enfield were too much depressed in spirits to enter into anything more than a mere monosyllabic conversation with Mr. Hardy, who, whatever was the true state of his feelings, maintained a kind, affable deportment.
To some extent, during the evening, the young wife was able, by a strongly self-compelling effort, to assume a more cheerful aspect towards her husband, which he regarded as a favourable omen. How little of what was in her heart, could he understand! Did it suggest the thought that he might make some concession? No! There was rather a feeling of exultation at the signs of victory; and there was the stirring of a baser purpose to make the submission still more complete, than at first designed.
Longer than the next morning, he could not wait, before again proposing to go and look at the house in Garden Street. He saw the paling of his wife's face, the quiver of her lip, the sudden catching of her breath, which followed his words — but these did not shake him in his purpose, nor cause him to hesitate. They only made him the more resolute to move onward. He had hoped, that, after passing through the convulsive struggles of the previous day, conscious weakness would induce her to yield. That she manifested surprise and pain at the renewal of his proposition, satisfied him that there had been a mutual error, both having regarded the victory as won.
"Will you go with me this morning, Jane?" he said firmly.
"If you desire it," was faintly answered. "Certainly, I desire it." Mr. Hardy spoke firmly, and in a rebuking tone.
"I shall be ready in a few moments." And Jane turned to the wardrobe to get her shawl. He did not notice that she staggered in her gait, as she crossed the room.
"You will find me in the library," said he, leaving the room. The instant he closed the door, his wife stood still, and clasping her hands across her bosom, lifted her eyes upwards, saying with an even, repressed voice —
"O Lord, give me strength and endurance. Make me a true, good wife. Teach me the way of duty. Guide my wandering feet. O Lord, help me — for I am weaker than the bruised reed!"
Then, with a firmer step, she moved about the room, and with quicker movements made preparation to go with her husband.
"I saw the owner of the house yesterday," said Mr. Hardy, as they left the street-door, "and he says that several people are desirous to rent it, and that we shall have to decide the matter today. I told him I thought there was no doubt of your taking the house."
He waited for a response, but none was made. The remark was intended to impress his wife with the fact, that he was still entirely in earnest; and such was the effect, for she remembered that it was while she had been lying sick in bed, that he was coldly prosecuting the object which he sought to obtain, even at the expense of trampling on her already crushed feelings. A low shudder went quivering along every nerve, at this new proof of his utter disregard of her wishes.
"Lord, help me!" From away down in her suffering spirit, arose this almost despairing cry. Very weak she felt; her own strength was almost gone. She must fall by the way, unless Heaven sent the power to bear up and move on.
Her silence, as little understood as any state of mind had been during this brief but unhappy contest, was set down to an unsubdued spirit, which yet hoped to compass its own will.
"It is of no use," he said, "my pretty one!" speaking to himself, in a light vein. "Your weapons of warfare strike against polished armour. I can be as insensible as iron when I choose. And so the quicker you get over all these airs — the better it will be for yourself."
The house in Garden Street was a handsome edifice; much handsomer than that in which Mr. and Mrs. Enfield were living. The neighbourhood was pleasant and desirable. Indeed, in most respects the choice was good. All this Jane saw at a glance; and yet, as she entered the spacious doorway, and passed into the elegantly-finished parlours, she felt that here was the burial-place of all her happiness. A dead coldness, like the atmosphere of a tomb, struck chillingly on her spirit.
To the All-seeing One only, was it known how, with the utmost strength of her soul, she struggled to assume a cheerful and interested manner, and to meet with a wife-like acceptance the earnestly spoken commendations lavished by her husband upon the new home into which he purposed removing her.
"Don't you think these parlours beautiful?" he asked with animation.
"Very," was replied. Jane wished to say more; but she was no actress. She could not veil her feelings with her voice; and she feared that the attempted utterance of words would only betray her state of mind too fully.
Mr. Hardy was disappointed at the brief response, as well as chafed by the still unbroken, stubborn wilfulness of his wife.
They passed into the large garden filled with choicest shrubbery, and adorned with a tasteful summer-house.
"Is not this charming! I have seen nothing like it in the whole city," said Mr. Hardy.
"It is very beautiful," replied Mrs. Hardy in an absent way. In truth, her eyes had scarcely taken in the form of these external things; for, just at the moment, arose before the eyes of her heart that dreadful, never-to-be-obliterated scene of the previous morning; and she seemed again to be looking appalled into the changed and terrible face of her husband, which, like that of another Medusa, was changing her into stone. (Editor's note: Medusa is the fabled woman whose hair was changed into serpents, after which all who looked upon her, were turned into stone.)
Mr. Hardy bit his lips to repress an impatient, rebuking word. With an unusual effort he kept silent.
From the garden they went into the upper rooms, both speechless — both embarrassed; and one in a state bordering upon angry excitement. Two handsome rooms, opening into each other by folding-doors, and finished with everything convenient and appropriate, were on the second floor, and, as they stepped into them, Mr. Hardy said —
"How do you like these, Jane?"
From the moment the young wife's feet crossed the threshold of this house, a chill fell upon her heart, as if the wings of death had thrown their cold shadows over her; and every advancing step she had taken, seemed like going farther and farther into the dusky chambers of an Egyptian tomb.
She tried to answer her husband's question — tried to frame approving words in her mind — tried to master her feelings so as to speak with apparent smiling cheerfulness. But all was vain. And so she remained silent under the pressure of emotions it was impossible to throw off.
"Why don't you speak, Jane?" Mr. Hardy's impatient feelings overleaped his self-control. "Surely, all this makes some impression upon your mind, favourable or unfavourable! I am at least entitled to a response!"
He had turned upon her suddenly, and was gazing sternly into her sad face. She met his fiery eyes with a startled look.
"Can't you say whether you like the house or not?"
Two or three times Jane attempted to answer; but her tongue clove, literally, to her mouth. Sternly her husband continued to gaze upon her, the angry spirit in his eyes smiting her with terrible anguish.
"It is of no use, Jane, thus to set yourself up against my wishes," said he, speaking very firmly, yet under greater self-control. "I understand more than half of this to be mere acting; and the other half the painful struggles of conscious weakness. Under the law of our marriage — and you solemnly vowed before Heaven to keep that law — it is my prerogative to decide all questions on which difference exists. We have differed here — and my decision you know. You wrong me, therefore, by this fruitless opposition; and you create for your own mind, a world of wretchedness. Surely, a man may be pardoned for desiring a home for himself; and that wife is greatly to blame who opposes her husband in this reasonable desire, particularly when she sees that he has set his heart upon it, and cannot be turned aside from his purpose!"
"Oh, John! John!" exclaimed Mrs. Hardy, bursting into tears, "how greatly you misunderstand me! — how sadly you wrong me!" And she leaned her face upon his shoulder, and for some moments wept bitterly.
Mr. Hardy drew his arm around her, and pressed her to his side; but there was no heart thrill conveyed by the pressure, for no heart was in the act. As the outburst of feelings died away, he said —
"I would be sorry to misunderstand or wrong you, Jane. In this respect, it is my effort to be blameless in the sight of Heaven towards all men. Just, I have ever sought to be."
Jane could speak no farther. A mere servile humiliation of herself at his feet was impossible, and this seemed to her the only alternative offered. There were necessities in her being which could not be wholly abrogated.
"Will you answer me one question, clearly and firmly?" said Mr. Hardy, with a resolute tone of voice, stepping a little apart, as he spoke.
"Certainly." There was a calmer utterance of the word than he had expected to hear.
"Shall we take this house? Say yes, or no."
"Yes, take it by all means," she answered, speaking evenly, but not lifting her eyes from the floor.
"Very well. That is settled. So far we understand each other. I will see the owner, and make the contract with him this morning. And now, for the matter of furnishing; that must be considered next. If you have any choice as to the cabinet-maker and upholsterer, I shall be glad to consult your wishes in this respect.
Indeed, if you and your excellent mother will undertake the whole business of furnishing every part of the house, I shall be gratified. What do you say?"
"If mother consents, as I have no doubt she will, I shall cheerfully consent to the arrangement."
This was almost too coldly — too mechanically said, to suit Mr. Hardy. There was neither warmth nor will enough in it. A moment or two he stood, hesitating whether to make any farther remark. He then said —
"Come; there is more of the house yet to be seen." Mrs. Hardy moved away with him, exhibiting a degree of interest not manifested before. The fact was, her feelings had suddenly congealed, giving an exterior placidity, and a smooth, glassy surface — which would coldly mirror back whatever image was presented. The ice, indeed, was very, very thin. But enough, that the waters were frozen, and to such a depth as would secure their remaining for a while undisturbed by the lighter airs which swept over them.
"I am glad you like the house," said Mr. Hardy, as on closing their examination, they started homeward. The remark was made in a voice that indicated satisfaction, and showed that he was deceived as to the real state of his wife's mind. "How soon shall we make arrangements for selecting the furniture?"
"I see no reason for delay in the matter," replied Mrs. Hardy.
"Nor I! And now, Jane, will you, assisted by your mother, undertake this work, and relieve me from all care on the subject? We are very busy at the office, and my time and thoughts are both fully occupied."
"If you desire it, and can trust to our taste in the selection," was the answer.
"Oh! I'll willingly leave the whole of that matter to you; making, however, one exception — everything must be handsome, and of the best quality. It is always cheapest to buy good furniture, and of the most recent patterns. It lasts longer, and does not so soon go out of fashion. Don't you agree with me in this respect?"
"Yes; I think you are right; only, there must he a limit as to price. It is possible that, in the selection, we might be tempted to exceed the sum you can afford to appropriate for the purpose. This is my only fear."
"You need not be alarmed about that. I wish to furnish handsomely, and you are at liberty to consult your taste in everything. Let elegance, not cheapness — be your guide."
Mr. Hardy, who was a man of but feeble perceptive powers, was again deceived as to the true state of his wife's feelings. He was weak enough to suppose that she had yielded in the contest, and was now submitting herself dutifully, and in a returning spirit of cheerfulness, the result of right purposes in the right direction. Pleasantly, and almost volubly, he talked of the future, and how delightful it would be when they could close the doors and windows of their own home at eventide, and shut out the world. How far was it from his thoughts, that every word he uttered struck the icy exterior of his wife's feelings, and glanced off without making the feeblest impression!
How little did he imagine, that her seemingly pleased responses, were only from the lips outward, and that, in the deep places of her soul, were agitation and opposition as profound as the life-sources of her being! He did not for an instant dream that a permanent change had passed over the surface of her feelings, and that, by gaining his purposes in the way in which he had gained them — he had lost his wife! that all the sweet, loving, gentle, celestial graces of her woman's nature, which had lured him by their heavenly attractions, had faded from the changed exterior, and retired for safety and life — far down into the interior mansions of her spirit, there to hide themselves until mortal should put on immortality.
Ah! what an error had been committed! What a wrong done! The selfish, self-willed young husband did not understand the instrument upon which he sought to play; and in his bold self-sufficiency, dashed his hand in among the delicate strings, first producing discord, and then shivering them to pieces!
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