Chapter 12

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_ CHAPTER XII The long weeks that had passed since the never-to-be-forgotten steamboat incident on Labor Day passed like a nightmare to poor Jack Garner. Slowly but surely the knowledge had come to him that Dorothy, his little sweetheart, had faded like a dream from his life; and as this became a settled fact in his mind, his whole nature seemed to change. He grew reckless, morbid, and gay by turns, until his old mother grew terrified, fearing for his reason. His whole heart had been in his work before and his one aim in life had been to make money. He had saved quite a snug little sum, which he very prudently placed in the bank. Now, to his mother's horror, his recklessness lost him his position, and he did not have enough ambition to try and secure another place, but commenced to draw his little hoard from the bank, and his money was disappearing like snow before a summer's sun. He began coming in late at nights, as well, and the widow, who listened for his footsteps, cried out in anguish: "Would to God that I had died ere I had lived to see this horrible change take place in my idolized son!" His cousin Barbara keenly felt the change in him. It was she who comforted the poor old mother, and who pleaded with Jack to try and take up the duties of life again, and to forget faithless Dorothy. But he would only shake his head, and answer that he would never cease to love Dorothy and search for her while life lasted. But troubles never seem to come singly. One day, as Jack was pacing restlessly up and down Broadway--the vantage-ground which he always sought at six o'clock each evening, to scan the faces of the working-girls as they passed, with the lingering hope in his heart that some day, sooner or later, his vigilance would be rewarded by seeing Dorothy--a terrible accident happened which almost cost him his life. An old sign on one of the corner buildings, which had done service many a year, suddenly fell, and Jack--poor Jack, was knocked senseless to the pavement. Surely it was the workings of Providence that Jessie Staples happened along just at that critical moment. With a wild, bitter cry she sprang forward, flinging herself upon the prostrate body, shrieking out as she saw his handsome, white face with the stains of blood upon it: "Oh, Heaven have mercy! It is Jack--Jack Garner!" Kindly hands raised him. No, he was not dead--only stunned, and terribly bruised. A cab was hastily summoned, and, accompanied by Jessie, he was taken home. The girl broke the sad news gently to Jack's mother and to Barbara. It was many and many a day before Jack left his couch; the accident had proved more dangerous than had been at first anticipated, for brain fever had set in. Every day on her way home from the book-bindery Jessie would go several blocks out of her way to see how Jack was getting along, and Barbara and his mother soon discovered that it was something more than mere friendship that actuated the girl's visits. Although against their expostulations, every cent that she could scrape together, over and above the cost of the bare necessities of her living, she would expend for fruit to bring to Jack. "I feel such a great pity for him," she would say; "for he has never, never been the same since Dorothy disappeared so suddenly." And they would look at the girl with wistful eyes, realizing that in her case, surely, pity was akin to love. They guessed Jessie's secret long before she knew it herself, and they felt sorry for her; for they knew her hopes were useless--that Jack could never return the girl's love. Jack's mother and Barbara talked the matter over carefully, and concluded that it was best for the girl's peace of mind to break up this infatuation, if they could, at once. At this epoch an event happened which turned the tide of affairs into a strange channel. By the death of a relative Jack suddenly found himself possessed of a fortune. He heard the startling news with a white, calm, unmoved face, while his mother and Barbara almost went wild with joy over it. "It matters little to me now," he said. "Wealth has no charms for me." And they well knew why. The intelligence came like a thunderbolt to Jessie Staples. It was Mrs. Garner who told about it while the family were gathered about the tea-table. The girl's face grew white as death, and she looked over at Jack with startled eyes. Before she could ask the question that sprang to her lips, Mrs. Garner added: "Of course this will make a great change in Jack's prospects. He says that we shall soon leave the little cottage and go out West somewhere--Barbara and I and himself--and that we will leave New York City far behind us, as there is no tie that binds him here now." Jessie tried to speak, but the words refused to come to her icy lips. She made an effort to raise her eyes to Jack's face, with a careless smile; but it was a failure--a dire failure. The table seemed to suddenly rise and dance before her. She rose hastily, with a wild prayer that she might get quickly out of the room, for she felt her throat choking up with great sobs, and realized that in an instant more she would have burst into tears. Poor Jessie Staples took one step forward, then fell unconscious at Jack's feet. "Why, what in the world can be the matter with Jessie?" he cried, raising her in his strong arms. "Is she ill? Let us send for a physician--quick!" "Stay!" said his mother, as he deposited Jessie on the sofa and turned quickly to put this last thought into execution. "Jessie's trouble is one which no physician can alleviate. It is an affair of the heart." Jack looked at his mother in amazement. "An affair of the heart?" he repeated. "Surely not, mother. Why, I have known Jessie ever since I can remember, and I never knew her to have a beau." "Perhaps she has given her heart to some one who does not return her love--who may not even know of it," suggested Mrs. Garner, quietly. "Impossible," declared Jack. "I have known her for years, I say, and if there was an affair of the heart between Jessie and any of the young men at the bindery, I should have known something of it." Mrs. Garner came nearer and laid her hand on her son's arm. "Are you sure, Jack?" she asked, in a low voice. He gave a great start. "I know of one whom she loves, and who, she knows, never thinks of her. When his life hung in jeopardy her secret was revealed to me." "Surely you do not--you can not mean, mother--that she--that I--" "Yes, that is what I mean," returned Mrs. Garner, quietly. "Jessie Staples loves you, my boy; but do not be hard on the poor girl. Remember, love goes where it is sent. She never intended that you should know it. She did not breathe a word about it to any one. It was by the merest chance that we made the discovery, and she does not dream that we know it." Jack sank down in the nearest chair, quite overcome with dismay. His mother came and bent over him, smoothing the fair hair back from his damp brow with a trembling hand, but uttering no word. At last he broke the deep silence: "What am I to say--what am I to do, mother, if--if--your surmises be actually true?" "They are not surmises, my boy," returned his mother; "they are truths." "You know that I like Jessie," he went on, huskily; "but as for any other sentiment--why, it would be impossible. My life will always be tinged with the bitter sorrow of that other love-dream which was so cruelly shattered. I--I wish to Heaven you had not told me your suspicions about Jessie, mother." "Her secret fell from my lips in an unguarded moment," she answered, slowly, "and I am sorry you know all. Yet it must be a source of comfort to you to know that although Dorothy Glenn was false to you, there is one heart which beats only for you." Jack started to his feet, a dull pallor creeping into his face as he drew back from his mother's touch. "Dorothy is not false to me!" he cried. "If an angel from heaven should tell me so I would not believe it. She is my betrothed bride. She wears my betrothal-ring upon her little hand. No matter where she is, she is true to me--true as God's promise. Shame has caused her to hide herself from me, because she was so foolish as to go with another on an excursion on Labor Day. But I have forgiven all that long ago. Oh, Heaven! if I could but let her know it!" Mrs. Garner shook her head. "A young girl who can leave you for months without a word does not care for you, my boy," she answered, sadly. "Surely there is great truth in the words that 'Love is blind,' if you can not be made to see this." Still the noble lover shook his head. There was no power on earth strong enough to shake his faith in Dorothy's love. Mrs. Garner had said all that she could say for Jessie, and she bowed her head, and great tears rolled down her cheeks. She felt great pity for Jessie. Why could not her son love her? She had heard the story of jilted lovers turning to some sympathizing heart for solace, and in time learning to love their consoler, and she wondered if this might not mercifully happen to her darling, idolized boy. She watched him as he paced excitedly up and down the room. Suddenly he turned to her, and during all the long after years of sorrow and pain she never forgot the expression of his face. "Mother!" he cried, hoarsely, "if my Dorothy ever proved false to me, I should be tempted to--to--kill her--and--then--kill--myself!" _

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