It was a stroke of the rarest good fortune that Laurier and Jessie
should be saved by a homeward-bound steamer--the _Scythia_, going
straight to New York.
What a sensation they created when the passengers discovered them
floating in the water on the poor raft formed of the plank and the spar.
A boat was quickly lowered, and they were drawn into it with all speed,
and, oh, what pity and kindness was showered on them after their long
exposure and peril!
The men took charge of Laurier, and the women of Jessie, every one
eager to contribute dry clothing and administer all needed comforts.
All were strangers alike to Jessie, but among the passengers Laurier
found several acquaintances, people he had met in London barely a week
ago, and whom he knew intimately in New York.
Laurier satisfied their curiosity by a straightforward recital of the
burning of the _Atlanta_, then he was glad enough to have a warm meal
and to be left to rest in his stateroom, where, spent and weary, he
remained until late next morning.
When he came on deck in a fairly well-fitting suit of clothing
contributed by a friend, he looked about anxiously for Jessie, hoping
she was well enough to come out this bright, sunny morning.
But she was not visible.
“Miss Lyndon is not well enough to come out to-day. The doctor thinks
she should rest in her stateroom till to-morrow,” he was told.
He could hardly wait till to-morrow to see her again, he was so
impatient.
How can I wait until you come to me?
The once fleet mornings linger by the way,
Their sunny smiles touched with malicious glee.
At my unrest they seem to pause and play,
Like truant children while I sigh and say,
How can I wait?
Meanwhile Jessie, really ill from fatigue and grief over her father’s
unknown fate, rested until next day, her retirement enlivened by the
visits of the ladies who vied with each other in their attentions
and condolences, every one having fallen in love with the beautiful
stranger.
They thought it most romantic that such a handsome pair as Laurier and
Jessie should have been cast away together at sea.
“Such an incident should end most naturally in love and marriage,”
declared Miss Chanler, who was a very romantic girl.
“What a pity that Miss Ellyson should be in the way!” added Mrs. de
Vries, a young society matron in Laurier’s set.
Jessie’s large eyes had an inquiring expression that moved her to add
further:
“Of course, you know all about his engagement?”
“No, I do not. I never met him until on shipboard,” Jessie answered
with seeming indifference.
“And you did not really know that he is going home to marry a girl he
has been engaged to over two years?”
“No,” Jessie answered carelessly.
“Then we must tell you about it. The story is quite romantic, if it
will not tire you to hear it.”
“Not at all,” she answered calmly, glad that they could not notice her
agitation.
So he was not married to proud, scornful Cora yet? She wondered why,
and listened eagerly to Mrs. de Vries as she rattled on and told all
that had happened as we already know.
As Mrs. de Vries finished her dramatic recital, a quick sob followed
from Jessie, who was weeping the tears that rise from a tender heart
over her rival’s calamity.
“Oh, I did wrong to unnerve you so. Forgive me,” the lady cried
repentantly.
“It is so dreadful!” Jessie sobbed, in answer, and for some moments she
found it impossible to command her feelings.
Then she stifled the bursting sobs, murmuring faintly:
“It was so distressing I could not help it!”
“It does credit to your tender heart, dear girl, but do not forget that
the story is going to end happily after all.”
A flood of sympathy for Frank Laurier’s troubles had been aroused in
Jessie’s heart, blotting out all her passionate resentments.
“How he has suffered through the sufferings of the proud beauty he
loved so well! And she, too, has atoned for all her heartlessness in
the ordeal she has passed through. I pity them too much to hate them
any longer, and when we meet to-morrow I will be very kind to him,” she
thought.
It was just what Laurier had been wishing--that she would be kind to
him when they met again.
The next morning she came on deck in a pretty gown of Miss Chanler’s
that had been altered to fit by a clever maid.
She looked lovely, though very, very pale still, as she went up to
Laurier with frankly extended hand.
“I am much better, and I thank you for saving my life,” she faltered,
with naïve directness.
“The opportunity made me very happy,” he answered, pressing the little
hand warmly as he led her to a steamer chair, and lingered by her side,
secretly jealous of every admiring glance that came her way.
But how could he blame them for feasting their eyes on such flawless
beauty as Jessie Lyndon’s, as perfect as an opening flower!
No one could look into those deep, soft, dark eyes without a thrill
at the heart; no one could gaze at the perfect, crimson lips without
wishing to press a kiss on them, or to embrace the graceful young
figure with the rounded slenderness of eighteen marking its lissom
curves, while the wealth of wavy golden hair drew the eyes again and
again in irresistible admiration.
But it seemed that even if Frank Laurier should fall in love with
Jessie he would have several very formidable rivals.
Most of the eligible young men on board vied with each other in
attentions to the newcomer.
They declared that she was the most beautiful creature ever seen,
and it was plainly to be seen that she could have her pick and choice
of lovers. It mattered not that she was very shy and quiet, grieving
always over her father’s loss, they hovered about her like bees about
a flower, while the ladies were also so charmed that they forgot to be
jealous of the lovely girl.
If Laurier was jealous he dared not say so, but the other young fellows
grumbled that just because Laurier had saved her life he tried to
monopolize all her time--and what was the use?--for they all knew he
was going home to marry an heiress, and there was no need to flirt with
beautiful Miss Lyndon.
Jessie herself wondered why, under the circumstances, he paid her so
much attention, but being devoid of vanity, she ascribed it to the
natural kindliness of his heart, and was very sweet and gentle in
return, telling herself he had been so kind she must not repulse him
these last few days when they would soon be parted forever. There
were times when she could not help feeling that every look and action
breathed love, then she would chide herself for her vanity.
“I am as vain and silly as when I thought him in love with me before,
because he showed me some meaningless attentions just to pique the girl
he loved into jealousy. I must not fall into such a mistake again,” she
mused, trying to curb her tempestuous heart that beat so fast at his
impassioned glances.