'Jerry dead—Jerry dead—and I shall never see him more!'
Jerry, so full of life and fun and jollity! It seemed incredible. And yet, why so? He only ran the risks that many others were running. But the mind of Bella went painfully back to their parting, when mutual doubts of the purity and honesty of each other's intentions—doubts born of the existence of those horrible mortgages—had mutually fettered their tongues, especially so far as she was concerned, and, when they separated, little dreaming that it was for ever—separated with a simply repeated 'good-bye' and a lingering pressure of the hand, while no kiss, no embrace, no promise were exchanged, and he was going away to be done to death in that savage land; and she remembered how she wept floods of unavailing tears as the last sound of his footsteps died away. Poor fellow! And now she should see him no more—never again!
To Bella Chevenix sorrow, repentance, and love were alike useless, so far as Jerry Wilmot was concerned. To the girl, just then, it seemed as if the dream of her life was over and done; in it no other could replace Jerry; the light had gone for ever out of her world now. She threw herself upon her knees, in the solitude of her chamber, in a passionate burst of grief—the brilliant, beautiful, and once happy Bella—and strove to say, 'Thy will be done,' but the genuine submission thereto could only come by-and-by.
Under the circumstances of Jerry's profession and career, some peril, some suffering were not altogether unlooked-for or undreaded; but that he should be killed and carried off by the dreadful Ashantees, of whom she had a very vague yet terrible idea indeed, had been beyond her calculations—beyond her worst anticipations! She felt dazed, miserable—intensely, and confused.
'I am now sure that he loved me well—well and dearly—and how coldly I parted with him! Oh, Jerry my darling, can it be that I shall never see you again!' Thus she said to herself over and over in sad reiteration, though no sound but sighs left her lips.
Anon she rose and paced her room, with half uttered exclamations of anguish and sorrow; and then she would throw herself on her bed, burying her face in her hands, in mute and tearless agony. To think that he was gone—in his grave, if he ever found one—gone without the memory of a kind word from her that would make her future life less bitter.
'Oh, Jerry—dead—dead!' she murmured, with ceaseless reiteration.
She had a craving for such sympathy as her father, who was to a great extent ignorant of all that had passed between her and Jerry, could not yield her, and she resolved to visit Laura.
She staggered from the bedside to her toilette-table, and when she looked into the glass she was surprised by the frozen-like despair she saw in her own beautiful face, which was as colourless as Carrara marble now. She bathed her eyes, made a hasty toilette of the most sable things she could select, tied a thick black veil over her face, and, ordering her pony phaeton, set out to visit Laura, to whom the dire tidings had come, of course, betimes, and she too was overwhelmed by affliction that, however, was not without hope.
She was alone now, most terribly alone at Chilcote Grange. Little Netty had been sent to a West End finishing school that she might acquire all sorts of accomplishments and graces with which to delight her father on his return; and now perhaps poor Tony Dalton might die by the banks of the Prah and never see England again, for the heat of the horrible climate there made all wounds more perilous.