Two years went by on the swift wing of time, and Miss Fielding had
drained to its dregs the full cup of success, in which there was but
one drop of bitter, the torturing fact that Laurie Meredith still
remained abroad, oblivious to her charms.
He had gone away before she went to Boston, and so he had not seen her
brilliant social triumph, for her dusky Southern beauty had carried
society by storm, and Mrs. Meredith had been quite proud of her
protégée.
Now Jewel had an elegant home on the same street with the Meredith
mansion, and Mrs. Wellings, as her companion and chaperon, was mistress
of a home where the most elegant entertainments were given, and where
life was always at its gayest, for the beautiful heiress loved to
surround herself with light-hearted people, and to live always in the
midst of pleasure, perhaps that she might keep at bay the pangs of
remorse that must sometimes have pierced her heart if she had given
herself time to think of those whose lives she had ruined.
Winter was coming on again, and at last Laurie Meredith was coming
home. He could not hold out longer against the prayers of his mother
and sisters, so he had promised to return from that long exile, in
which he had been a restless, unhappy wanderer, seeking:
"Respite--respite and nepenthe from his memories of Lenore."
Jewel contrived to make one of the home party when he arrived, and he
could not help but see into what a magnificent-looking woman she had
grown since he went away.
The rich, trailing robe of ruby velvet, trimmed with gray fur, was very
becoming to her stately style, and her eyes were bright with welcome as
he clasped her beautiful hand.
Lovers by the score she had had since she came to Boston, but none had
erased from her passionate heart the image of handsome Laurie Meredith,
for whose sake she had sinned so deeply and recklessly, and now she
felt that her long waiting was about to be rewarded.
He had had time to forget Flower, and surely he could not longer remain
cold to her love and her charms.
It gave him a pang to see her, for she always recalled Flower to his
mind, and the thought of his lost love was always painful.
But he chided himself for his reluctance at meeting her, and perhaps
his welcome was doubly cordial on that account; and his family, seeing
it, made up their minds that the pair were fond of each other in a
tenderer fashion than they had suspected.
Perhaps they hinted something of the sort to him, for the first time he
found himself alone with her, he said to her:
"Miss Fielding, is it possible that you have never told my mother and
sisters of my marriage?"
Jewel looked up at him with her radiant eyes, and answered:
"You might have known that I would not betray your secret."
He was nettled by her use of that word. It seemed like a tacit reproach
to him, and while he paused for words in which to reply, she added:
"Of course I knew that if you had desired them to know you would have
confided in them before you went away. So I respected your desire, and
not a word of it has passed my lips."
"You misunderstood me," he rejoined, eagerly. "I meant them to
know--only I was weak and sick still when I went away, and it was so
painful to reopen that cruel wound. I fully expected they would hear
all from you." She was silent, twisting her ringed fingers slowly in
and out, and Laurie Meredith continued: "I wish that you had spoken,
for now the duty falls on me. I feel like a wretch and a coward,
keeping this secret from my nearest and dearest."
Jewel's dark eyes sought his face with such a strange look that he
said, involuntarily:
"Well?"
She answered, deliberately:
"It seems to me that the silence you have kept so long ought to be
preserved still. What good would come of speaking now?"
"They ought to know," he said, uneasily.
"But why, Mr. Meredith? You would only distress them if you told your
story now. They have heard from me my mother's story and Flower's. They
know that she drowned herself because of the dishonor of her birth. Do
you think, proud as they are, that they would be pleased to know that
the daughter of poor, erring Daisy Forrest had been your wife?"
His face flushed deeply, then his brown eyes flashed.
"It was cruel of you to tell them that. Why need you have done it?" he
exclaimed; and Jewel burst into tears, sobbing out that she had been so
wretched, and wanted some one to sympathize with her so much, that she
could not help speaking.
He waited till she had done sobbing, then asked:
"And the people in Virginia--your old home. You let them know the truth
at least. You promised me you would as soon as the Reverend Mr. Archer
came home from Europe."
"But he never came home," Jewel answered.
And he told himself that he was mistaken in fancying that there was
a ring of malicious triumph in her voice. Surely she would be only
too glad to have the honor of her sister vindicated, and he echoed,
dismally:
"Never came home!"
"No; he died abroad," said Jewel, and, after waiting a few moments, she
added: "What was the use of speaking then? No one would have believed
me. Besides, very few knew anything about poor Flower's trouble at the
time, and to bring it up again would have made a fresh scandal, so I
thought it best not to speak."
And against his better judgment she persuaded Laurie Meredith to keep
the secret of the past.