And he went away perplexed and unhappy, realizing that the medical art could not avail to cure that subtle malady—hopelessness and weariness of life.
So it happened that she grew worse and worse, weaker and weaker. She swallowed the doctor’s tonics patiently; but they did not do her any good, and she smiled sorrowfully when he chided her because she would not make an effort to live.
“The world is empty,” she murmured again, turning her lovely, pallid face to the wall.
CHAPTER XXXV.
“BILLING AND COOING WILL WAIT.”
So it happened that on the day when the Scythia came into port—the same day that Cora Ellyson went to Madame Barto’s at Carey Doyle’s command—Mrs. Dalrymple lay so ill that Cora felt it wrong to leave the house even for a moment.
Yet she dared not disobey the commands of her merciless tyrant.
On returning home she received a note from Frank Laurier announcing that he had arrived in New York that morning and would call on her that evening. The poor fellow having been parted from Jessie by her own decree of separation, had no resource now but to return to Cora, and most bitter indeed was the penalty.
He would never forget that night when his beautiful love had so gently forbidden him to hope to win her and bade him return to Cora.
Prayers and entreaties were of no avail; she put them gently aside, saying:
“Even if I loved you, how could I be happy with you when you had broken another’s heart for my sake?”