CHAPTER XIII.
She wondered that she did not die of her shame and despair, so keen was her pain and humiliation, but the day wore to sunset and she was still alive, although the face of the whole world had changed to her in twenty-four hours, so that the blue of the sky and the gold of the sun no longer seemed fair, and the birdsongs in the trees outside had changed to notes of sadness that fell coldly on her heart.
There came to her a sharp memory of the little song she had once loved, the one that had lingered on her lips the day she rode so blithely away on Rex to meet her fate in the beautiful dark blue eyes that had been so false and fair:
“Honey-flowers to the honey-comb,And the honey-bees from home.“A honey-comb and a honey-flowerAnd the bee shall have his hour.“A honeyed heart for the honey-combAnd the honey-bee flies home.“A heavy heart in the honey-flowerAnd the bee has had his hour.”
“Honey-flowers to the honey-comb,And the honey-bees from home.“A honey-comb and a honey-flowerAnd the bee shall have his hour.“A honeyed heart for the honey-combAnd the honey-bee flies home.“A heavy heart in the honey-flowerAnd the bee has had his hour.”
“Honey-flowers to the honey-comb,And the honey-bees from home.
“Honey-flowers to the honey-comb,
And the honey-bees from home.
“A honey-comb and a honey-flowerAnd the bee shall have his hour.
“A honey-comb and a honey-flower
And the bee shall have his hour.
“A honeyed heart for the honey-combAnd the honey-bee flies home.
“A honeyed heart for the honey-comb
And the honey-bee flies home.
“A heavy heart in the honey-flowerAnd the bee has had his hour.”
“A heavy heart in the honey-flower
And the bee has had his hour.”
“I am going to let you sit in this easy-chair by the window to watch the beautiful July sunset, and Mr. Hermann wants to come in and see you,” Miss Tuttle said, placing the chair ready and dressing her patient in a soft white wrapper.
But it was Jessie Stirling who pushed open the door and tripped in, first taking advantage of its being unlocked.
“Poor dear, how changed you look, how pale, how ill! It was a terrible shock to you to find out how Chester Olyphant had deceived you, was it not?” she twittered, loquaciously, coolly taking a chair in front of Leola, and adding:
“You may well fancy it was a shock to me, too, to find him down here flirting with you when I thought him safe on a yacht thousands of miles away. Did Miss Tuttle tell you he has gone away in a huff at being found out, and without leaving any word for me? Yes, he has gone, and at first I vowed I never would forgive him his flirtation with you, but—well, when I go back to New York perhaps I will relent, after he has coaxed long enough. We really are very fond of each other, you know, though Chester cannot help flirting any more than he can help breathing. I shall never let him know how hard you took it, for that would flatter his vanity too much!”
His vanity, dear heaven! and she had believed he loved her, thought Leola, with silent shame and despair.
She could not bear to look at Jessie, his jubilant betrothed, sitting there in her pretty fashionable gown and fluffy flaxen locks in a wavy aureole over her white brow. She wished secretly that the girl would go away and leave her alone with her wounded heart.
But Jessie went on, eagerly:
“When I consent to forgive him for this I shall scold him roundly, you may be sure, Leola, and I shall pretend to him that after that little fainting fit you came around all right, and despised him for his duplicity, and vowed you would never see him again. He shall not think, the vain creature, that you wore the willow an hour for his sake. I will pretend you had other lovers to take his place. That will be true, for there is Mr. Bennett, who adores you, although you have flouted him so badly. As for me, if I were in your place I’d marry Bennett out of hand, to show Chester Olyphant how little I cared about him! That would take the conceit out of him quicker than anything you could do!”
So she twittered on artfully until Leola’s lovely face grew crimson with shame at her own weakness in caring so much for one so unworthy.
Without saying one word, her somber eyes turned to the setting sun; she writhed with secret shame that Jessie could think she cared so much for her frivolous lover. Oh, if she could only tear this pain from her heart; only smile again as before this cruel blow that had nearly struck her dead with its agony.
As Jessie chattered on, she began to feel a passionate contempt for the man as the pretty blonde depicted him, shallow, vain, unscrupulous.
“Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a mouldering string:I am shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing!”
“Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a mouldering string:I am shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing!”
“Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a mouldering string:I am shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing!”
“Shall it not be scorn to me to harp on such a mouldering string:
I am shamed through all my nature to have loved so slight a thing!”
With sudden angry passion, her dark eyes flashing, she turned upon the artful girl:
“Please speak no more to me on that subject, Jessie. You weary me. I despise the man. I wish never to hear his name again!” she cried, bitterly, and her weakness seemed to fall from her, in passionate contempt.
“Poor Leola, I cannot blame you,” cried the triumphant blonde, cheerfully, just as the door opened again, and Wizard Hermann glided softly into the room.
“Ah, Leola, you are better. I am very glad,” he said, in a smooth, oily voice, taking the chair Jessie vacated, saying she must go to mamma.
She nodded, wearily, without speaking,wishing they would all leave her alone, for every human face seemed hateful to her now.
She would not meet his eyes, or she would have seen that he looked ill and nervous, too, and that his always furtive, unpleasant manner had grown more marked and repellent still.
“Miss Tuttle,” he added, “you may leave the room. I have private affairs to talk of with my ward.”
When they were quite alone he turned back to her, saying, earnestly:
“I have come, Leola, to explain my private affairs to you, and to make one more appeal to you to help me out of my trouble.”
She listened without replying, the deep somber eyes fixed on the fading sunset beyond the distant hills, and Wizard Hermann continued:
“For years I have been heavily in debt, and had to borrow money from my rich neighbor, Mr. Bennett, to meet my living expenses and take care of you, Leola, in proper style for a pretty young girl. You have had your governess, your horse, your clothing, without a care on your young mind, but I, in order to meet your expenses, and keep this roof over your head, have been obliged to place a mortgage of fifteen thousand dollars on Wheatlands, and to-morrow the mortgage falls due. If Bennett forecloses, as he swears he will, we shall all be turned out homeless.”
It was on her lips to say that she did not care, that nothing really mattered to her now, but she bit her lips and held back the words, waiting silently to the end.
“I have no means of paying my debt; I cannot possibly raise the money, but neighbor Bennett has been very generous; he has offered to forego his pay, to destroy the mortgage, on one condition. Are you listening, Leola?”
She nodded, without turning her gaze from the sunset hills, and he continued, eagerly:
“I think you know what is coming, Leola. Bennett has fallen madly in love with you, and wants you for his wife. If you consent he will settle a hundred thousand dollars on you, and forego the debt I owe. As for the rest, when you are once his wife, you can wind the foolish old man around your fingers like a ribbon, and have your own way in everything. If you refuse he swears he will turn us all out of doors in twenty-four hours.”
He paused and waited, but she did not speak, and realizing how futile would be the attempted exercise of authority, he fell to pleading:
“Can you let this terrible calamity befall us, Leola—me in my old age, you in your youth and beauty? Why, we would not have whereon to lay our heads if we anger Giles Bennett.”
The somber dark eyes turned to him, questioningly:
“I—I—have always supposed that you held money in trust for me, sir. I did not dream that I was an expense to you, as you say,” exclaimed Leola. “Have I then no friends who can help us in our need?”
“Not one, Leola, for I know nothing of your relations. To be plain, I took you, a pauper child, from the almshouse, for pity’s sake, and have reared you as well as though you had been my own daughter. The secret of your birth I kept, and it shall never pass my lips. But in the hour of my misfortune I appeal to you to pay the debt of gratitude you owe me—a debt that you can only pay by marrying Giles Bennett to-morrow.”
An icy shudder shook her weak frame; she felt that death were sweeter than such a fate.
But the man who had befriended her young life was waiting with haggard eyes for her answer—waiting for her to save him from despair.
And she, the pauper, nameless, homeless, save for Wizard Hermann’s charity—would it not be monstrous ingratitude to refuse his prayer?
She faltered, recklessly:
“I will marry the man!”