“And Cora exonerates me from blame?”
“Ye-es,” hesitatingly.
“You are keeping back something, Noel? Speak out.”
“Well, then, she was rather vexed over your attending Miss Dalrymple’s funeral. You see, Laurier, it was that which really caused our deuced hurry, that upset everything.”
“I never intended Cora should know I went to that funeral.”
“You may be sure I did not tell her, for I thought strange of your doing it myself, but some dunce saw you there, blurted it out to Van Dorn, and he told Miss Ellyson. See?”
“Oh, yes,” and for a few moments Laurier remained silent, his thoughts divided between the dead girl and the living one—the one he had wounded unto death, the one who was to be his bride.
He gave a long, long sigh to Jessie’s memory, then a chivalrous thought to Cora.
“Poor girl, how cruelly she must have suffered in the terrible suspense of that hour. I must make it up to her, Noel, as soon as I can. Perhaps it would please her to be married now before I get well.”
“Now? Here?”—in surprise.