“Fiend!” he hurled at her, bitterly, and sank on his knees by Leola, frantically searching for signs of life, kissing her cold, white face, calling on her in love’s holy name to waken for his sake, and speak to him again.
Jessie Stirling, listening with outward cold indifference, prayed that Leola would never answer those vows of love, never open her sweet dark eyes again, prayed that death might indeed claim her for his own.
And she smiled when all his efforts and all caresses proved vain to bring life back to the stricken girl—smiled even when he turned to her with accusing eyes and cried in bitter agony:
“Your false words have broken my little love’s heart, and slain her as surely as if you had struck a dagger into her breast! You have murdered an innocent girl who never wronged you, Jessie Stirling, yet you sit there and smile like the fiend you are! Do you think you can ever know any happiness after this? No, for my hate will follow you through life, and my curse will darken your days and make sleepless your nights till you pray for death’s release!”
He ceased and turned back to Leola, kissing her cold face and hands with burning lips, then lifting the inert form in his arms, he bore her toward the house, Jessie Stirling following in a sort of awe, mixed with rage and revolt against the curse he had pronounced against her, wondering if there could be any fateful occult power to cause its fulfillment.
With a heart as heavy as lead, Chester Olyphant bore his burden up the steps to the hall, where Miss Tuttle met him, shrieking:
“Oh, Heaven have mercy, what has happened to Leola?”
She was appalled when he groaned in anguish:
“Alas, I found her dead in the arbor. Lead the way to her room.”
“Not dead, oh, no, it cannot be! Surely it is only a faint! Come this way,” sobbed the governess, and in a few moments Leola was placed on her little white bed among the dainty pillows, no whiter than her face.