In twenty different ways he told me of his happiness, his love, and the sweet necessity there was for my presence in his life. At first it seemed impossible for me to believe him; but after a while my heart received the full conviction of his love, and settled down into that fulness of content which makes some one hour of every human life a heaven.
As we sat together, with the twilight gathering around us, the curtains falling over the recess of the window rustled apart, and Jessie came through them. Her father did not move, but looked up smiling. I felt a flood of crimson burn across my face. She looked at him a moment, then at me, but obtained only a timid glance in return: it was enough. She bent down and kissed me with affectionate warmth; then disappeared quietly as she had come, leaving me the happiest mortal that God ever blessed.
One week from that day two weddings were solemnized in that house; but only one couple went away. That home was too dear for any thoughts of fashionable travel with us.
The last year of the war we took a trip to the White Mountains, and made some stay at New York on our return home. Having nothing special to occupy us, one evening we joined a party from the hotel, and went to hear a reading from the poets, to be given at a public hall in Broadway. It so happened that no one mentioned the name of the reader, and we had not thought enough about the matter to inquire.
The hall was full of what seemed to be persons from the upper classes, and some little excitement prevailed, as if there was a peculiar interest taken either in the subject or reader. This aroused our curiosity a little, and we waited with more than usual impatience for the lady to appear.
She came at last from the side platform, a radiantly beautiful woman, with the air of an empress. Her black lace dress, richly flounced, swept the floor; her white neck was exposed, and her superb arms uncovered to the shoulder. A cluster of scarlet flowers glowed in her hair and on her bosom. My heart gave one bound, and settled back with a sickening recoil.
It was Mrs. Dennison.
She approached the reading-desk, rested her hand upon the volume that lay upon it, and looked around upon the audience. Her eyes fell upon us. She recoiled a step; a flash of red shot across her face. But instantly she resumed her former position, looked steadily in our faces, and then quietly allowed her eyes to pass over the crowd.
While her hand rested on the book, a cry broke over us from the street. Some newsboy, shouting as he sped along, sent his voice ringing through the open doors:
"Further particulars of the battle of the Wilderness! Death of Colonel Lawrence!"