“Better!” cried Jessie, then a wave of memory swept over her, and she moaned, “Oh, how terrible it was! How came I here? And he—oh, where is he?”
Madame took her hand and answered solemnly:
“You may well ask, where is he? Poor child, how can I tell you the dreadful truth? But you will have to bear it. He—poor Frank Laurier—was killed stone-dead!”
A shriek rang through the room—long, loud, heart-rending!—then Jessie lay like one dead before the heartless woman.
Madame Barto would never forget that day.
Jessie Lyndon’s grief for Frank Laurier when she recovered from her long swoon was indeed heart-rending.
In vain madame expostulated:
“Why should you take on so? You never saw him till yesterday!”
“Oh, I cannot understand it, but I know that he was as dear to me as if I had known him a year!”
“A young girl must not give her heart unsought.”