CHAPTER XV.
THE LOVE THAT IS SURE TO COME.
The hour which followed in the old garden sealed the fate of the false heir—he was hopelessly head over heels in love with the girl whom he had come to Blackheath Hall determined to hate. He was frightened at the vehemence of his mad passion.
What if she should not return it and refuse to obey the conditions of the will?
“I will not think of such a possibility,” he told himself, setting his handsome, white teeth hard together.
He felt that the first thing to be done to get on an amiable footing with her and remove her prejudice—for he felt reasonably sure that she recognized him—was to apologize for his seeming harshness to his horse on that memorable occasion when the girl had encountered him.
He got around the point most admirably, in his opinion, when he turned lightly and said to Jess:
“I have been trying to think, ever since I beheld you to-day, of whom you remind me. I have it now, your face is very similar to that of a young girl whom I met in this vicinity a few days ago as——”
“I am that girl, Mr. Dinsmore,” cut in Jess, icily, and with more dignity of manner than good Mrs. Bryson would ever have dreamed that she possessed, adding: “Your conduct exasperated me, and I administered to you what I considered a lesson and a rebuke in one. I know you are intending to tell Mrs. Bryson about it to get me into trouble, but I do not care; I would do the same thing over again under the same provocation, Mr. Dinsmore!” she cried, with flashing eyes.
“You mistake my intentions,” he hastened to reply; “I have no wish to ever mention it after this conversation, believe me. Instead, I wish to explain my actions to you, that I may not seem quite such an ogre in your sight as I must at present. Remember, I asked you to hear me then and you refused; surely you will not judge me too harshly until you have heard what I have to say upon the subject?” he said, eagerly.
“I would rather try to forget it,” retorted Jess, her slender, dark, jetty eyebrows meeting in a decided frown.
He would take no notice of her remark, but went on, quickly:
“You shall hear my reason for my actions, which will, I am sure, excuse them——”
“Nothing will ever excuse a man for lashing a poor dumb brute!” cried Jess, trembling with indignation. “Spare your words, sir!”
Without noticing the interruption he went on, in a low, injured voice:
“Some five minutes ere you saw me I had been taken with an attack of my old enemy—acute gastritis—and I knew that my only hope of not falling dead in the saddle was to reach a place where I could summon assistance, for in five minutes more I would be in spasms. In moments like that one uses every means within one’s grasp to reach safety and succor. I realized dimly that the animal was tired, but it was his life or mine, and the latter, of course, was the one to be saved. In my excruciating pain I know not what words I used—I never will know. My brain seemed on fire and whirling about; my only thought was to reach the village beyond, and with all possible speed, while I was able to control the lines and keep my seat. The terrible fall which the animal gave me had its good effects; it restored the circulation of blood as nothing else could have done, and probably saved my life then and there. That is all I have to say; surely, after knowing the truth, you cannot withhold your pardon from me, Miss Jess?”
“Not if your statement is true,” replied the girl, with terrible straightforwardness. “I did you two injuries: the first, in believing you unmercifully wicked and cruel; the second, in reaching out from the limb of the tree on which I was seated and striking you. It is I who should sue for your pardon, sir, and pray that you might forget it.”
“I beg you to believe that my pardon is fully and freely granted,” he replied, eagerly. “And now, may I hope that we shall be friends, Miss Jess?” and, emboldened by her forgiving mood, he caught the little brown hand that was hanging by her side ere she could know what he was about to do, and began kissing it rapturously.
With an angry gesture Jess quickly drew her hand from his clasp.
“You ask for my friendship,” she said, “that is quite another matter; you will have to deserve it. And I shall not know whether you are worthy of it until I know you better, and have learned your good traits, and your bad ones.”
The young man laughed outright, highly amused. Was there ever such an original girl as this Jess? he asked himself.
“I shall strive for it as man never strove for a girl’s friendship before,” he declared. “Now that I have removed your distrust—nay, even your hatred—I may hope to gain your good will—which is so much to me.”
She looked at him in unfeigned astonishment.
“Why should you care whether I like or hate you, Mr. Dinsmore?” she asked, looking straight into his face with her dark, childish eyes.
Had he chosen to utter the truth he might have responded:
“For two reasons: first, because I have taken a fancy to you; and second, because you must marry me, whether you will or not, that I may secure the Dinsmore fortune.”
But he only responded, quietly:
“Why should one wish for an enemy when that enemy can be made a friend of, Miss Jessie?”
“Do not call me Jessie!” cried the girl; “I detest it. I am simply Jess—nothing but that.”
“Jess, then,” he said, laughingly. “It shall be as the queen wills.”
“I shall be sure not to like you if you go on making speeches like that!” declared the girl. “I don’t like queens, they are not my style; I have read all about them. I’d rather be a plain American girl than be the grandest queen in the world.”
“You are enthusiastically patriotic,” he said, admiringly. “I quite honor you for that sentiment,” and he drew nearer, that he might look more closely into the beautiful face, whose expression varied with every passing thought.
And Mrs. Bryson, watching them eagerly from behind the screening vines of the porch, said to herself that they were getting on famously together.
It was a difficult matter, during the week which followed, to keep Jess within the prescribed bounds of civilization which Mrs. Bryson had laid out for her.
But that the brown linsey dress was destroyed, literally torn to pieces before her very eyes, Jess would have donned it, and taken to her old life again, roaming barefooted through the woods and dales, with never a care.
She chafed like an untamed cub at the confinement she was now undergoing, and of being thrust into stays and dainty dresses, and her feet into slippers, even though they were of a size the far-famed Cinderella herself might have envied. And the curls, which had always been allowed to blow about as they would, free from restraint as the breeze itself, did not take kindly to the jailer of a ribbon, and were constantly breaking forth in crinkling rings here and there, utterly defying detention.
“I was in great fear that he would not take to Jess,” mused Mrs. Bryson, anxiously; “but now I know that that fear is groundless; she can be mistress of Blackheath Hall if she so wills it; and, no matter how obstinate she may be, I will see to it that she marries the young heir when he asks her. Dear, dear! what a wonderful difference fine clothes do make in the girl. I never knew before that she was positively beautiful; but such is actually the case. ‘Fine feathers make fine birds,’ most truly.”
Mrs. Bryson had too much tact to ask Jess what she thought of the handsome young stranger, even when she found herself alone with the girl that night. Instead, she said, with a sigh:
“Mr. Dinsmore is far more elegant than I thought he would be. I have little hope that you will ever reign mistress of this vast estate, for he would never think of falling in love with you, poor child.”
“Nor would I ever fall in love with him,” retorted Jess, spiritedly; but all the same the words of the housekeeper rankled in her girlish heart for an hour or more after Mrs. Bryson had left her; in fact, until her dark, bright eyes closed in dreams. It was the first thought that occurred to Jess when she opened her eyes at the dawn of day the following morning.
“If it were not for the trouble I would show Mrs. Bryson how mistaken she is,” Jess ruminated, as she made her simple toilet and hurried down into the grounds.
Early as she was, to her great amazement she found Mr. Dinsmore already in the grounds, smoking a cigar as he paced restlessly to and fro.
“What an unexpected pleasure, Miss Jess,” he cried, throwing away his cigar at once and advancing toward her. “I hardly hoped for so agreeable a surprise. Usually young girls are not visible much before noon—those whom I have met in the world of fashion.”
“Then I should not like to belong to the world of fashion,” declared Jess, “for the early morning has a charm for me which no other part of the day can equal. I had almost forgotten to give you the letter which Toby just brought up from the village post office for you, Mr. Dinsmore.”
As he took it from her hand, and his eye fell upon the chirography, a chalky, ashen color overspread his face, and he started violently. Even before he opened it, he had an intuition of what it contained, and he muttered to himself:
“I have not time to waste—I must marry this girl and collect all the funds possible without delay. And after that—well, let the future look out for itself!”