“Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above,
Deeper than depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.”
Many a long hour, while the great city was sleeping that night, Queenie
paced the floor of her boudoir, deeply absorbed in her own turbulent
thoughts.
It had been an exciting day to her, being brought face to face with
her old lover whom she had mourned as dead, and more exciting still to
learn of the barrier which fate had raised between them in the shape
of John Dinsmore’s bride--Jess, the girl who had been living under her
own roof as her guest.
What would Raymond Challoner do, and say, she wondered, when she
informed him that the real John Dinsmore was alive, and more astounding
still, was wedded to the girl whom he was laying his plans to win,
because of her fortune?
What vengeance would the arch-plotter take when he found his grand
scheme for millions lying in ruins at his feet? Queenie feared that he
would not lose an instant in putting John Dinsmore out of the way most
securely, and still have the effrontery to attempt to carry out his
scheme, should it become known to him that the little bride, Jess, did
not know the real identity of the man whom she had wedded. Should she
tell him that John Dinsmore lived, and that Jess was his wife, or not?
That was the troublous question she asked herself over and over again.
“He must not harm one hair of John Dinsmore’s head,” she muttered
fiercely. “For he will be mine as soon as he can free himself from the
ties which now bind him.”
Then her thoughts took another turn. A scheme came to her worthy of the
arch-fiend himself. Yes, it was feasible, and it should be carried out.
It was almost dawn when Queenie threw herself upon her couch. She fell
into a deep sleep, and it was almost noon when she awoke the next day,
tired still, and unrefreshed.
“Was it all a dream?” she muttered, as she rubbed her eyes and gazed at
Jess, who stood by the window in her room, patiently waiting for her to
awaken--Jess, with the happiest smile she had ever seen on that dimpled
young face, a smile as bright as the morning itself.
“You lazy, beautiful queen!” cried the girl, springing to her side,
“how long you are sleeping to-day, and I longing to talk with you. I
felt like awakening you with a shower of kisses.”
Queenie drew back from her embrace with repellent coldness.
Down in the depths of her heart she hated with a deadly hatred this
girl who had the right to kiss the face of the man whom she loved, and
who bore his name.
“What is the matter, Queenie? Are you not well?” exclaimed Jess, with
earnest solicitude. “Why, your hands are like ice; even your lips are
cold.”
“I have a headache. If you don’t mind, I’d rather be alone for a little
while,” she replied, abruptly.
Without another word Jess turned slowly and quitted the boudoir,
wondering greatly at the change of manner of her new-found friend, and
wondering if she had possibly done anything to offend her.
But upon reaching her own room Jess forgot very quickly all about
Queenie and her grievance, in giving herself up to her delicious
daydreams of the future that awaited her with the reappearance of her
handsome, dignified husband.
“Oh, how I love him,” the girl murmured, resting her dimpled cheek
against her pink palms. “It seems as though I had only just commenced
to live to-day. He ought to be here soon now. He said he would come on
the morrow, and then----”
Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by the entrance of Queenie, who
came direct to the window where she sat, and laid a white hand lightly
on the girl’s arm.
“You are come to tell that he--my husband--is here!” cried Jess,
tremulously, her face flushing with unconcealed delight.
Queenie bent over and raised the dimpled chin in her hand, looking
searchingly down into the fair, happy young face, and then she
answered, slowly:
“I wish to Heaven I could tell you so, my poor dear.”
“Why, what can you mean, Queenie?” cried Jess, springing to her feet, a
premonition of coming evil rushing over her heart.
“Can you bear a great shock, my love?” murmured Queenie, in a low
voice, tightening her hold of the girl’s arm. “Are you brave enough to
hear something that will be a great blow, a great sorrow to you?”
Jess looked at her in affright. Her two little hands clutch at
Queenie’s skirts, while her eyes, like two burning flames, seem to
devour the face of the false friend.
“If it is something about my--husband, tell me quick!” she breathes
hoarsely, “for the suspense is killing me.”
“I would to Heaven that it was not my lot to break the pitiful news to
you, Jess, but perhaps I can do it better than any one else.”
“Yes, yes; go on, go on. I am sure it is something about my husband,”
whispers Jess in intense excitement.
Queenie nods, and clasps the two ice-cold hands of Jess in her own,
while she prepares to utter the death-warrant to the girl standing so
innocent and so helpless before her--at her mercy.
“Little Jess, I pity you with all my heart,” she begins, “and my heart
bleeds for you. I cannot keep the truth back from you an instant
longer. Something has happened to your husband.”
“He is hurt!” shrieked Jess, wildly, clutching at her heart as she
gulps out the choking words.
“He met with an accident as he was leaving here, and he is--dead!”
whispers Queenie.
The words have scarcely left her lips ere Jess falls like a log at her
feet.
Dead! Queenie thinks at first, but as she bends over her, she finds to
her disappointment that is but a swoon.
For a moment she stands gazing down at her evil work with a fiendish
smile curling her lips.
“This is the first step I have taken in the plot to part this girl
most effectually from the man I love, and have set myself to win,”
she muttered in a hard voice, adding: “Why should I not? For he loves
me--not her.”
She hears the maid’s step along the corridor, and hurries to the door
to intercept her.
“The same gentleman who called yesterday,” thought the maid under her
breath, as she presented Mr. John Dinsmore’s card to her mistress,
saying aloud: “The gentleman asked to see Miss Jess.”
“Very well,” returned the beautiful young widow, her hand trembling in
spite of her apparent calmness, as she took the bit of pasteboard.
“She will lie there, in just that condition until long after my
interview with him is ended,” she muttered. “Still it is always wise to
take every possible precaution.”
So saying, as she glided from the apartment, she turned and locked the
door noiselessly, and slipped the key into her pocket.
On her way down to the drawing-room she paused long enough in her own
apartment to secure a letter which she had spent long hours the night
before in writing.
In the drawing-room below John Dinsmore was pacing up and down
impatiently enough at the delay, for he was sure his little wife would
fairly fly down to his arms upon learning he was there.
Jess’ reception of him the day before, and her acknowledgment of her
love for himself, had fairly carried his heart by storm. He could not
doubt but that other love affair had been brought about by a mistaken
fancy on the girl’s part, and that her affection for himself was true
love, the first and only time she had really loved.
The peep he had had into her heart had been a revelation to him, and
then, and then only, he realized an amazing truth, that his own heart
answered that love--responded to it with an intenseness that startled
him with its power.
“Thank Heaven that I did not tell her yesterday that the object of my
visit was to inform her that we must part; that I intended to divorce
her. Great God! I must have been mad to think of flinging aside so
ruthlessly a heart of such pure gold,” he ruminated. “I am thankful,
indeed, that I knew my own heart in time. Instead of telling her that
we must part, I will tell her that I am come to take her away with me,
and that we shall never be parted more, and that I love her even more
fondly than she loves me, and that henceforth our lives shall be one
long, sweet dream of bliss, that her happiness shall be my care, and a
lifetime of fond devotion shall repay her for giving her sweet, bright
self to my keeping.”
Would she never come to him? Oh, how the moments seemed to drag, he
longed so to clasp Jess in his arms, and give her the first kiss of
love, burning, passionate love, that he had ever pressed upon her
lips--and she his bride.
He almost believed that his love had developed into idolatry for Jess,
his sweet girl-bride.