CHAPTER XXXI.
HOW COULD HE LOSE HER THUS?
The days flew fast and to-morrow their eventful journey would be over—they would land at New York.
More than one heart was secretly sorry, grieving to lose sight of one sweet passenger—lovely Jessie Lyndon.
And what made the parting worse was that Jessie gave them no hope of meeting her again, in spite of their broad hints at renewing her acquaintance in New York.
She had said to one and all that she was going to relatives in the city, but not to any one, even Laurier, did she disclose their names.
In fact, Jessie was ill at ease over the thought of returning to her mother, because there she must meet again the proud beauty, Cora.
“I must be there through all the excitement of their wedding. How can I bear it?” she asked herself in frank dismay.
It seemed to her that she could not bear the pain of seeing him wedded to another. She would be sure to turn pale and tremble, and thus betray the secret of her sad heart—her unrequited love.
She wished that the wedding were over and done with, so that they might be gone away on their bridal tour before she entered the house.
The more she thought of it the more she felt that she could not bear the excitement of the wedding, and at length she resolved to seek out some of her former humble friends and remain with them until Laurier and his bride were gone on their wedding tour.
That last night before they landed was the most beautiful they had experienced. The azure dome was gemmed with countless stars that were mirrored in the calm sea, the moon shed a bewitching, silvery light on everything, and the air was as soft as in midsummer.
Every one remained on deck till a late hour. They had music and flirting to beguile the time, and Laurier betrayed the fact of Jessie’s talent.
“Oh, why did you not tell us before?” they cried. “Oh, do not refuse to sing for us!”
They had been so kind that she could not well refuse; besides, she loved to sing as the birds love to warble.
She whispered to Laurier:
“I will do my best because they have all been so kind to me, but I fear I shall break down thinking of poor papa and the uncertainty of his fate.”
He tried to cheer her with hopeful words:
“Look on the bright side; your father may have been saved just as we were, and you may soon be reunited.”
“I fear not. He had a presentiment of death, I believe, for he sent messages as from the dying to his friends in New York,” she sighed.
“Still, I would not give up hope. Many people have been known to survive terrible accidents,” he replied, and she wondered if he was thinking of all that had happened to him and Cora.
She sighed, and began to strum softly on the guitar some one had offered for her accompaniments.
Then she sang, and the tremor in her voice made it all the sweeter. They hung spellbound on the liquid notes sweet as the nightingale.
“It is another Melba!” they cried in delight, but some were hushed into silence, their very heartstrings stirred by the divine strains.
When she stopped at last, all were clamorous for more, but she pleaded weariness.
A low voice murmured in her ear:
“Just one more, please—the song you sang for your father the night I first saw you.”
“I must have sung several,” she replied, and he answered:
“‘Love, I will love you ever!’”
The significant earnestness of the tone and words made her heart throb so quickly that the blood mantled her cheek with crimson. She made no answer, just swept the strings and sang the sweet old song, while his heart kept echoing the tender refrain:
She paused, and no one ventured to ask her to sing again. They wished to keep the last sweet strain in their hearts.
She turned her face up to the starry sky, and little by little they fell away from her side, comprehending that she preferred to be alone.
Soon no one was left but Laurier, and for some little time he kept silence. It was enough to be near her, to gaze on the lovely face upturned to the moonlit sky, to breathe the same air with her, and to wonder of what she was thinking with that pensive curve on her crimson lips, whether of her dead father, or a possible lover.
He started while a twinge of jealousy tore through his heart like red-hot iron. A lover! Oh, how he hated the thought!
Then another thought came to vex him.
To-morrow they would be parted. She was going out of his life to unknown friends.
And she had shown no disposition to continue her acquaintance with him beyond to-morrow.
Could he bear to lose her thus?
Life would be unutterably dreary without this beautiful girl who had come into his life so strangely, and was about to fade from it so soon.
His heart leaped with great, suffocating throbs. He must speak, must know his fate!
He leaned closer to her till their heads almost touched, the brown, curly one, and the wavy, golden-tressed one.
“Jessie,” he faltered.
She started violently, and turned her face inquiringly toward him, as he continued:
“Ever since that first night I saw you with your pure face upturned to the sky, the words of your song have echoed in my heart. Will you forgive me for daring to say them over to you? ‘Love, I will love you ever!’”
She could not pretend to misunderstand him. With dilated, wondering eyes, she gazed at him, as he continued thrillingly:
“I know this seems strange to you—strange and abrupt. But once before I knew and loved a Jessie Lyndon, so like to you that you might have been twin sisters. Perhaps you have had a near relative of that name?” anxiously.