CHAPTER X.
Had an earthquake rent the solid ground beneath Leola’s feet she could not have been more terribly shocked.
She had listened in horror, with a wildly palpitating heart, to the words that slipped from Miss Stirling’s cruel lips—listened, with the blood leaping like fire through her veins, to the suspicions suggested so coolly; but at the sudden and startling finale, when her rival sprang joyously to the breast of her lover—at this shocking finale, Leola’s blood, from coursing like liquid fire through her veins, swiftly congealed to ice, her face went white as snow, her heart stopped its wild pulsations, and she sank upon the ground, limply, like one dead.
And overhead the sun shone on in the clear blue sky, and the merry robins sang among the roses as if love and life had not seemingly come to an end together for stricken Leola.
But if that terrible swoon had not overtaken her at that crucial moment, Leola would have seen her lover recoil in anger from Jessie’s embrace, and push her gently but decisively away, saying, rebukingly:
“Miss Stirling, pray remember that our brief engagement ended long ago, and that this advance on your part is in the worst possible taste.”
If she had been conscious, instead of lying like a dead girl on the ground amid the ruins of her happiness, she would have seen Jessie Stirling sink down and clasp Chester’s knees, and with burning tears beseech him to love her again because she could not endure life without him.
She would have heard these passionate prayers repulsed; she would have heard Chester Olyphant saying, coldly:
“Words are useless, Miss Stirling, for, after all, I never really loved you, and you entrapped me somehow into an engagement that my heart never sanctioned. The glamour of passion quickly faded, and when your own folly gave me an excuse to gain an honorable release from fetters that began to gall, I was glad to retreat with honor. I have to tell you things thus frankly, because it is the only way out of your efforts at a reconciliation that can never be effected, since my whole heart is given to another.”
All the while he was unconscious of Leola, lying there like a dead girl on the ground, and he continued, impatiently:
“Pray get up, Miss Stirling; it is embarrassing to have you kneel to me. Be seated, I beg you, and calm yourself. This is certainly a very unexpected rencontre. I did not know you were at Wheatlands. Has not Leola, then, told you she is my promised wife?”
Sinking, sullenly, to the arbor bench as he raised her to her feet, she hissed, furiously:
“The silly little rustic told me she was in love with a man named Ray Chester, but how was I to guess that her poor artist lover was the millionaire society man, Chester Olyphant, masquerading under a false name and guise, perhaps to deceive a pretty, ignorant country girl, with more beauty than brains?”
He recoiled in horror from her bold accusation, his handsome face went white, his blue eyes flashed lightning.
“How dare you?” he thundered, clenching his fist; then it fell helplessly to his side. “You are a woman; I cannot strike you. I can only reason and explain.”
“Yes, explain, if you can, for your conduct certainly appears very suspicious,” Jessie Stirling answered, with a bitter, taunting laugh that nearly drove him wild.
And yet, in all his anger, he knew she was right; it did look bad, this masquerade; and, although he despised the girl, he knew he must explain for Leola’s sake.
Still unconscious that his bonny sweetheart lay upon the ground, so close that if he stepped backward he must stumble over her senseless form, he glanced out of the arbor to see if she were coming, and then turned back to Jessie, saying, hoarsely:
“It looks suspicious, I grant you, but when a man is cursed with immense wealth, and knows himself constantly the prey of designing women wanting to marry him for his money, is it not excusable that, by a little harmless deception, he may win a girl’s heart by love alone, and thus ensure his future happiness?”
“Bah! a slim excuse!” she sneered; but, restraining his resentment, he continued, earnestly:
“This, I swear to you, Miss Stirling, was my only reason for the little deception I practised on Leola, and my plan succeeded well. I have won for my own the sweetest, truest heart that ever beat, and I had decided last night to come here to-day to confess all to Leola and her guardian, and to press for an immediate marriage, in order to save her from the persecutions of a rich old man, who has Mr. Hermann in his power, by reason of a mortgage on his property. It was my design to relieve his embarrassment by advancing the amount myself to pay off the mortgage. I hope you will accept this truthful explanation, and forego the gratification of your unwise spite by any persecution of my dear little love, Leola, whom I must now seek.”
“You will not have far to seek. Look behind you on the ground!” Miss Stirling answered, with a bitter laugh.
Then for the first time he became aware of Leola’s presence—Leola lying like a dead girl on the ground at his feet.
In the one moment that he stood gazing down like a statue of despair, Miss Stirling cried, with triumphant malice:
“Just before you came in Leola and I had had a very satisfactory explanation, for I recognized you in her description, and I soon made her understand your villainy. Yes, I told her you were betrothed to me, and that you were deceiving her. She believed me, and despised you, and just at the moment of her outcry against you, when you entered and I sprang to your breast, claiming you for my own, she dropped like one with a bullet in her heart, and there she has been lying ever since, and more than likely the poor, deceived girl is really dead of the shock.”
“Fiend!” he hurled at her, bitterly, and sank on his knees by Leola, frantically searching for signs of life, kissing her cold, white face, calling on her in love’sholy name to waken for his sake, and speak to him again.
Jessie Stirling, listening with outward cold indifference, prayed that Leola would never answer those vows of love, never open her sweet dark eyes again, prayed that death might indeed claim her for his own.
And she smiled when all his efforts and all caresses proved vain to bring life back to the stricken girl—smiled even when he turned to her with accusing eyes and cried in bitter agony:
“Your false words have broken my little love’s heart, and slain her as surely as if you had struck a dagger into her breast! You have murdered an innocent girl who never wronged you, Jessie Stirling, yet you sit there and smile like the fiend you are! Do you think you can ever know any happiness after this? No, for my hate will follow you through life, and my curse will darken your days and make sleepless your nights till you pray for death’s release!”
He ceased and turned back to Leola, kissing her cold face and hands with burning lips, then lifting the inert form in his arms, he bore her toward the house, Jessie Stirling following in a sort of awe, mixed with rage and revolt against the curse he had pronounced against her, wondering if there could be any fateful occult power to cause its fulfillment.
With a heart as heavy as lead, Chester Olyphant bore his burden up the steps to the hall, where Miss Tuttle met him, shrieking:
“Oh, Heaven have mercy, what has happened to Leola?”
She was appalled when he groaned in anguish:
“Alas, I found her dead in the arbor. Lead the way to her room.”
“Not dead, oh, no, it cannot be! Surely it is only a faint! Come this way,” sobbed the governess, and in a few moments Leola was placed on her little white bed among the dainty pillows, no whiter than her face.
Miss Tuttle felt for her heart, but there was no faintest throb to give hope of life.
“Oh, bring a doctor, do bring a doctor, Mr. Chester! I cannot surely believe she is dead. Once I saw her lie like this half an hour when she had fallen from a horse, and she may revive this time, too. Oh, please, please bring Doctor Barnes at once!” she exclaimed, excitedly, and, as he flew to do her bidding, she fell to undressing the girl, tenderly, but swiftly, saying to Jessie, who stood near, looking on, stupidly:
“Run, run to the kitchen and tell Betsy I must have some warm water for a bath for Leola. She may be in a sort of spasm.”
Jessie Stirling ran out of the room, but she did not carry the message to the kitchen.
Instead she sought her uncle, to whom she said, with an injured air:
“Oh, Uncle Hermann. I’m so glad I came this morning, for I have detected a villain in a plot to ruin poor Leola! You remember how I told you I was betrothed to Chester Olyphant, a millionaire of New York, and that he was gone on a yachting tour for a few weeks. Well, this morning I found that, instead of going yachting, as he pretended, the unprincipled villain, who knew of Leola from me, had come down here masquerading as Ray Chester, an artist, making love to poor, innocent Leola. This morning he came upon us in the arbor, and when I exposed him to the girl, she fell in a swoon so deep that it looks like death.”
A bitter oath shrilled over Wizard Hermann’s lips, and he cried:
“Where is he, the villain? Let me get my hands on his throat!”
“He is gone to bring Doctor Barnes, uncle, but he will be back with him presently, and were I you, dear uncle, I should wreak vengeance on the wretch for his double treachery—to me, his betrothed, and to poor, innocent Leola, whom he has deceived with his false protestations of love. You need not fear to anger me, for I will never marry him now; I hate him for his treachery,” raged the artful girl, and her uncle responded:
“I’ll throw him down the steps and break every bone in his body, if he ventures back here. But Leola is lying unconscious, you say. Have they brought her into the house?”
“Yes, she is in her room, and her governess with her. I daresay she will revive presently, and as I cannot do anything more for her I’ll go help mamma to unpack our trunks, while you watch for the doctor and that wretch, Chester Olyphant.”
And hoping in the bottom of her heart that not a bone would be left unbroken in the young man’s body, hating him because he knew her for what she was, and because she could never win him back again, she flew to her mother to relate all that had occurred.
“I told you so. I knew that day that Chester Olyphant was struck with the girl, and wanted to find her out, but you would not listen to me, and now you have lost him forever,” was her comment.
“Oh, I knew you’d have to go over all that, but even if I had known it, how could I have helped it?” was the ungracious reply.
“Then, what do you want me to do?” asked the querulous mother, and she quailed when Jessie whispered in her ear:
“I want you to go and help Miss Tuttle to revive Leola—that is, to pretend to, but really to see that she stays dead, for it would be joy to me to see Chester Olyphant bereaved of his love.”
“Jessie, you are mad, girl! I cannot aid you in such a nefarious design,” cried the poor, nervous mother, trembling as with a chill.
“Then I will manage it myself!” Jessie hissed, rushing madly from the room to Leola’s bedside.
But Miss Tuttle gently barred her from the door.
“Doctor Barnes is here, and he will not permit anyone in the room but myself, not even her betrothed,” she said, curtly, shutting the door calmly in Jessie’s very face.