Chapter 28

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_ CHAPTER XXVIII For a moment the room seemed to whirl around Dorothy. The words seemed to strike into her very brain as they fell from Mrs. Garner's lips. "My son is soon to be married!" and the four walls seemed to repeat and re-echo them. "I shall lose a son, but I shall gain a dear daughter," added the old lady, softly. For an instant, as Dorothy sat trembling there, the impulse was strong upon her to fly from the house. The very air seemed to stifle her. While she hesitated, fate settled the matter for her. The front door was opened by some one who had a latch-key, and a voice that thrilled every fiber of her being addressed some question to a servant passing through the corridor. "Here is my son coming at last!" exclaimed the old lady, in pleased eagerness. "Jack--Jack, my dear!" she called; "I am in the drawing-room. Step in a moment, my son;" and before Dorothy could collect her scattered senses the portières were parted by a strong, white hand, and Jack Garner stood on the threshold. Ah! how changed he was in those few short months! The boyish expression had vanished. He looked older, more care-worn. The fair, handsome face was graver; the blue eyes were surely more thoughtful. Even his fair chestnut hair seemed to have taken on a deeper, more golden hue. He crossed the room, bent over his mother, and kissed her. "This is my son--Mrs. Brown, Mr. Garner," said the old lady, her voice lingering over the words with pardonable pride. It was a terrible moment for Dorothy. Would Jack know her? Would not those keen, grave, searching eyes penetrate her disguise? He gave but a casual glance to the small, slim figure clad in black, and bowed courteously, then turned away. The greatest ordeal of her life was past. She had met Jack--Jack who had loved her so--face to face, and he had not recognized her. She rallied from her confused thoughts by a great effort, for Mrs. Garner was speaking to her. "I was saying, that as we seem mutually pleased with each other, we may as well consider the arrangement as settled between us." Dorothy bowed. She could not utter a word in protest to save her life, although she had quite made up her mind not to remain under that roof. "Your duties will be light, and I feel sure you will find ours a pleasant home. I will ring for one of the servants to show you to your room;" and suiting the action to the word, she touched the bell, and an instant later a neat little maid appeared, who courtesied and asked Dorothy to follow her. "Madame will find her little child has already been taken to her apartments," said the girl, opening the door at the further end of the upper corridor. Yes, little Pearl was there, cooing with delight at her new surroundings, and over the cup of hot milk and crackers on the little stand close beside her. The girl rose hastily as Dorothy entered, set down the child, and quitted the apartment. Upon finding herself alone with Pearl, Dorothy snatched the child up in her arms, sank down in the depths of a great easy-chair, and sobbed as though her heart would break. "Oh, little Pearl! how I wish that we had never come here!" she moaned. "It makes me feel so sad." The baby's blue eyes looked up into her own in wonder, but her soft cooing and the clasp of her little soft, warm fingers could not comfort Dorothy. After luncheon she was called into Mrs. Garner's room. "I am not feeling well," she said, motioning Dorothy to a seat. "I should like you to read to me until I fall asleep. Take any of the books from the book-case in the library. I have no choice." The silent little figure in black bowed, and glided out of the room. It was dusk in the library as she entered it, and while she pondered as to whether she should call some one to light the gas, to enable her to read the titles on the volumes, she heard Jack's voice. But instead of passing, he entered, and proceeded to light the gas. With a beating heart Dorothy drew still further back, and at that moment another person entered the room. "I knew I should find you here, Jack," said a voice that sounded terribly familiar to the figure in the window hidden by the silken draperies. "I have come to ask a little favor of you. I hope you will not find it in your heart to refuse me." Before the last comer in the room had ceased speaking, Dorothy knew who it was--Jessie Staples! A great lump rose in her throat, and her heart beat. She knew that she should have slipped from her place of concealment and quitted the room, but she seemed to have been held spell-bound by a power she could not control. She leaned heavily against the wall and listened with painful intensity to the conversation that was taking place between her old lover and Jessie, although she knew that it was wrong for her to do so. "A favor you would ask of me?" repeated Jack, quickly. "Why, consider it granted beforehand," he returned, "if it is within my power." "You are more than kind," murmured Jessie, adding: "The fact is, I have too painful a headache to attend the opera with you to-night, but I want you to go and enjoy yourself, and take some young girl in my place. I--I do not want to mar your happiness for this evening." "I am quite sorry to seem unkind," he returned, "but really, Jessie, I beg that you will not ask me to take any one else to the opera, if you can not go. Although I promised beforehand, I trust you will not hold me to anything like that. I do not feel inclined to entertain any of your friends this evening, especially when you are not present. But, really, Jessie, I think it might do you good to go--the lights, and the music, and the gay throng, might divert your thoughts from yourself, and act as a wonderful panacea in banishing your headache." "No--no!" returned Jessie; "believe me, I shall feel much better at home. But you must go. I could not forgive myself if I were to be the cause of your losing one hour of happiness, and I know, Jack, that you enjoy affairs of that kind so much. Go, if only to please me." "If you are sure that it will please you, Jessie, I can not withstand your entreaties," he returned, thoughtfully. "Still, I have the hope that you may change your mind at the eleventh hour, and be ready to go with me," he added, laughingly. "I have a few letters to write, and will see you after I finish them. Remember it is not every night that one can hear Patti;" and with a few more pleasant words he quitted the room. For some moments after he had left, Jessie Staples stood leaning against the mantel, gazing thoughtfully into the fire; then she was startled by a step close beside her. She turned her head suddenly and saw a dark figure just leaving the room. "Stay!" she called out; and the figure hesitated on the threshold. "Come here!" and the dark-robed figure advanced slowly and stood before her. "You are Mrs. Brown, the new companion?" she said, interrogatively. "Yes," murmured a stifled voice. "May I ask how long you have been standing in the room?" Miss Staples inquired, rather curiously. "I did not see you come in." "I beg your pardon," came the faint answer. "I entered a few moments before you did, and when the gentleman entered and you commenced speaking, I--I hardly knew how to make my presence known, the conversation was so personal. I tried to make my escape from the room as soon as it was possible. I--I hope you are not angry with me." "No," said Miss Staples, slowly. "I am sure the facts are as you stated them. You may resume your duties. That is all I wish to say," said Miss Staples. Still the slight figure hesitated. Poor Dorothy, how she longed to fling herself in Jessie's arms and cry out: "Oh, Jessie, Jessie! don't you know me? I am Dorothy--your poor little friend Dorothy whom you used to love so dearly in the old days." Still she dared not; no, she dared not betray her identity. And with one lingering glance she turned and slowly left the library, holding, tightly clutched in her hand, one of the volumes from the great book-case. She had caught up the first one which she laid her hand on. "You have been gone some time, Mrs. Brown," said Mrs. Garner, fretfully, as she entered the boudoir. "Let me see your selection. What book have you brought me? Why, as I live, it is the dictionary!" she exclaimed, in a most astonished voice. "Did you think I had need of that?" The old lady flushed painfully. It was well known that it was one of her weak points to guard carefully from the world that she had no education whatever. She would rather have died than to have let people know that she had at one time been a poor working-woman; and now this stranger, who had been only a hours beneath her roof, had discovered it. She did not know what remark to make to Mrs. Brown, she was so aghast when the dictionary was handed her. _

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