[CHAPTER XXXVII.]
Laurie Meredith found himself in a terrible dilemma. He had thought that he was quite safe in pledging himself to Jewel Fielding, being perfectly sure that he could never love again as he had loved his lost Flower.
But suddenly, and almost hopelessly, it seemed, he found himself most passionately in love with Lord Ivon's great-granddaughter, the proud English beauty.
And it was her wonderful resemblance to Flower that had wiled his heart from his breast.
At times, when looking at her or listening to her musical voice, he could scarcely persuade himself that she was a stranger; she seemed so much like Flower, his lost bride, that he longed to clasp her in his arms, and say:
"You must be Flower, who loved me so dearly once, and who was my adored little bride! Confess the truth, and own that you are only masquerading as the heiress of this proud nobleman!"
If he had followed this wild impulse of his heart all would have been well. She would have been only too happy to find him again, and would gladly have resigned the proudest destiny for his dear sake.
But his reason fought sternly against such folly and madness. He would say to himself, in bitter chiding:
"I am a traitor to Jewel in thus cherishing a mad passion for one whom she instinctively dreaded from the first as a rival. Flower is dead, dead; and this girl, with her face and voice, is but a stranger. Oh, my little love, my blue-eyed Flower, if only I could call you back to my heart!"