“Yes, she is in her room, and her governess with her. I daresay she will revive presently, and as I cannot do anything more for her I’ll go help mamma to unpack our trunks, while you watch for the doctor and that wretch, Chester Olyphant.”
And hoping in the bottom of her heart that not a bone would be left unbroken in the young man’s body, hating him because he knew her for what she was, and because she could never win him back again, she flew to her mother to relate all that had occurred.
“I told you so. I knew that day that Chester Olyphant was struck with the girl, and wanted to find her out, but you would not listen to me, and now you have lost him forever,” was her comment.
“Oh, I knew you’d have to go over all that, but even if I had known it, how could I have helped it?” was the ungracious reply.
“Then, what do you want me to do?” asked the querulous mother, and she quailed when Jessie whispered in her ear:
“I want you to go and help Miss Tuttle to revive Leola—that is, to pretend to, but really to see that she stays dead, for it would be joy to me to see Chester Olyphant bereaved of his love.”
“Jessie, you are mad, girl! I cannot aid you in such a nefarious design,” cried the poor, nervous mother, trembling as with a chill.
“Then I will manage it myself!” Jessie hissed, rushing madly from the room to Leola’s bedside.
But Miss Tuttle gently barred her from the door.
“Doctor Barnes is here, and he will not permit anyone in the room but myself, not even her betrothed,” she said, curtly, shutting the door calmly in Jessie’s very face.