Mrs. Garner had said all that she could say for Jessie, and she bowed her head, and great tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt great pity for Jessie. Why could not her son love her? She had heard the story of jilted lovers turning to some sympathizing heart for solace, and in time learning to love their consoler, and she wondered if this might not mercifully happen to her darling, idolized boy.
She watched him as he paced excitedly up and down the room. Suddenly he turned to her, and during all the long after years of sorrow and pain she never forgot the expression of his face.
"Mother!" he cried, hoarsely, "if my Dorothy ever proved false to me, I should be tempted to—to—kill her—and—then—kill—myself!"
Chapter XIII.
The contretemps which had been so cleverly averted—of giving the pony, Black Beauty, to Miss Vincent, and Dorothy's keen resentment—should have proved a lesson to Harry Kendal and warned him not to play with edged tools.
He was a little careful of what he said to Iris for the next few days, when Dorothy was present; but gradually this restraint began to wear off, and he grew to be almost reckless in the way he laughed and carried on with the girl, even though his fiancée was in the room. This attention was certainly not discouraged by Iris Vincent.
He smiled to see her go in raptures over everything in and about Gray Gables, and she, with her glorious dark eyes, always smiled back at him. Their chats grew longer and more frequent; they were fast becoming excellent friends.
They had sent for Iris Vincent to become Dorothy's companion, but it was whispered among the old servants of the household that she was proving herself to be more frequently the companion of Mr. Kendal, and they talked about it in alarm, wondering how it would all end. They felt indignant, too, that such a bold flirtation—for it had certainly come to that—should be carried on right in the face of poor, blind Dorothy.
"Some one ought to give her a hint of what is going on," cried indignant little Katy, the maid. But there was no one who could find it in his or her heart to warn her of what was transpiring. The blow would be more than she could bear, for she loved Harry Kendal better than life itself.
They wondered if little Dorothy guessed that he led Iris to the table, while she, blind as she was, groped her way as best she could to her own seat. They hated to see him lavish attentions on the beauty, and it drove them almost out of their self-possession to see their eyes meet in that provoking, mutual smile.