From being so passionately in love with beautiful Cora that he was willfully blind to her glaring faults, a chill seemed to have passed over him, making him temporarily cold to the fascinating blandishments of his triumphant betrothed.
Mrs. Dalrymple read in his sudden reserve and indifference that he would not be averse to a postponement out of sympathy with the house of mourning, but nothing was further from Cora Ellyson’s selfish thoughts.
Mrs. Dalrymple also knew something that Cora did not guess.
When the beautiful, white casket had been borne into the house some time ago and Jessie’s still form was laid in it, her golden head pillowed on fragrant flowers after pressing so many thorns in life, Frank Laurier had gone on his crutch to the room, and spent half an hour alone with the beautiful dead.
The mother, who watched him, herself unseen, had seen in his deep-blue eyes, as they rested on her darling’s face, that look that cannot be mistaken, the dawning of a great and silent love.
Cora Ellyson’s rival dead was more dangerous to her peace than in life.
In her grave she would hold the best part of the heart that Cora claimed as all her own.
The bereaved mother had seen him press reverent lips on the shining mass of golden hair, had heard him murmur solemnly: “Jessie, darling, can you hear me pray for your forgiveness?”
CHAPTER XII.
AN EVIL OMEN.
Thursday morning dawned fair and sunny with all traces of Tuesday night’s storm swept away—the streets clean, the skies blue, the air crisply cold—the day set for Jessie Lyndon’s funeral and Frank Laurier’s wedding.