The girl gave a gasp, and Mary saw her face paling, only to flush again, while the dark eyes filled with tears.
"Oh, Dot," she cried, astonished and angry, "how can you love such a man?"
Dorothy threw herself on her knees and hid her face in Mary's lap, sobbing as if the words had broken a seal set to keep this knowledge from even her own heart.
"I don't know, Mary, but I do—I do love him, and have, for always. And now he has gone—gone away, thinking I hate him, and I may never see him again."
Mary put her arms around the little form, and used all her efforts to soothe the passionate outburst. She could not but feel that she had been wise in thus forcing Dorothy to open her heart, for not only did she know the girl would feel better for having spoken, but she herself had a new and most important fact to guide her own future action.
CHAPTER XXVI
Mary felt that she must lose no time in making her husband as wise as herself with respect to Dorothy's real sentiments, and in having him understand that he could not bring any harm to the young Britisher without making his sister all the more unhappy.
She wondered what Jack would say—as to the effect it would have upon his temper and actions. But she was determined upon this,—that if he showed resentment or anger, she would assert herself in Dorothy's defence, feeling as she did that it was too late to do other than submit to what fate had brought about, and all the more especially, since Dorothy had confessed to loving this man.
"I could almost wish he had been killed outright the morning I made him tumble over the rocks," she said to herself, "or that he had fallen into the sea, never to be seen again." Then, realizing that this was little short of murder, she shrank from such musings, shocked to find herself so wicked.