"There was that strange dream of the mulatto, Sam, you know," he answered.
"Sam—a drunken fool!" said Jewel, with compressed lips and flashing eyes. "His wife denied every word of it. She was a clever, truthful woman."
He sighed and relapsed into silence while she continued, with feverish eagerness:
"Of course, I know that Flower is dead! I have never doubted it with the evidence that I had. But, in spite of all, it gave me a shock to see Azalia Brooke. I feared you might be startled, too, and betray some agitation on meeting her, so I hurried back to warn you."
"You are very kind, dear Jewel," he said, affecting indifference. "I dare say the resemblance is not very striking. I promise you to meet the English beauty with due calmness."
"Dear Laurie," she whispered, fondly, and twined her jeweled fingers softly about his. "Do you know," she went on, smilingly, "I was actually feeling jealous of Azalia Brooke? I thought—since she looked so much like Flower—that she might win you from me!"
"Nonsense!" he replied, with a smile, that lightened her heart of much of its fear, and gave her courage to say, tenderly:
"Promise me, dear Laurie, not to fall in love with Azalia Brooke, for you know that would break my heart. Once before, when I fondly dreamed that you were mine alone, I lost you to another, and I could not bear that cruel pain again and live!"
His heart was deeply touched by her devotion.
"Jewel, I am not worthy of such passionate love," he said, feeling that his lukewarm passion compared most unfavorably with her fond affection. Then seeing how anxious she looked, he added, "I will promise you most willingly not to fall in love with Miss Brooke."