Chapter 35

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_ CHAPTER XXXV Not one thought did Dorothy give to Harry Kendal during these days. It is strange what a power some young girls possess in throwing off all tender thoughts from their hearts when the object of them has proven himself unworthy. All love for Harry Kendal had gone out of her heart when she saw him choose Iris' society instead of her own, and she at the time his betrothed bride. Dorothy's only hope was that Kendal would not penetrate her disguise, and never know what had become of her. She did not know but what he was now betrothed to Iris, and she did not care. She was glad to be rid of him at any cost. She only wished that Nadine Holt--who was still so insanely in love with her false lover--knew how treacherous he was. She wished she dare tell her about Iris. In her hours of loneliness little Pearl was a great comfort to Dorothy. She almost lost sight of her troubles at times in taking care of the child, who was quite as desolate in the world as herself. She never forgot one morning that broke sunny enough for her, but ended in desolation more bitter to endure than death. Mrs. Garner and herself were seated at the breakfast table, when Jack entered and took his seat opposite Dorothy. He bent his fair, handsome head, and kissed his mother as he passed her, and bowed courteously to "Mrs. Brown." Both noticed that his fair, handsome face was very pale, and his right hand looked bruised. Mrs. Garner spoke of it at once. "What is the matter--what has happened, Jack, my boy?" she asked, earnestly. "What does your agitation mean? You must tell me at once. Your--your appearance alarms me more than I can tell you." He tried to laugh the matter off, but his mother would not be persuaded to change the subject. "Well, then, if you must know, I will tell you when--we--are--alone," he said, a little unsteadily. "You need not mind Mrs. Brown," she answered, quickly. "I do not hesitate speaking before her on any topic." Dorothy rose hurriedly to her feet. "I--I have finished my breakfast," she said, in the low tone she had assumed, and which so charmed every one; "and if you will excuse me, I shall be grateful." Jack bowed courteously; but Mrs. Garner held out a fluttering hand to stay her steps. "Do not go very far, Mrs. Brown," she said. "I may need you at any moment. Step into the conservatory and wait for further orders there." With a bow of assent Dorothy glided from the room. She was sorry that Mrs. Garner had requested her to remain in the conservatory, for she knew full well that more or less of the conversation between mother and son must needs reach her ears. The door had no sooner closed behind the slim, retreating figure ere Mrs. Garner turned quickly to her son, who was now pacing up and down the breakfast-room, with his arms folded tightly over his breast, his head crested proudly erect and a strange look in his eyes. "Well, Jack." she said, at length, seeing that he was in no hurry to break the silence, "what is the matter? You used to tell your mother all your troubles when you were a little boy. Come to me with them now. Something has happened to disturb you greatly. I can see it in your face. Tell me what it is, my boy. Tell your mother what annoys you, my dear." "You are right, mother; something has happened to disturb me," he said. "I ought not to worry you with it, but if you care to hear it you shall know all. You remember a conversation we had several months ago about--about little Dorothy, mother?" "We did have a conversation about that girl, but I do not remember specially all that was said." "You remember that I told you then, mother, that--that I still loved Dorothy, and if I ever came across the man who lured her away from me it would go hard with him or with me." "I was in hopes that you were getting over that nonsense," she said, "especially since your betrothal to poor Jessie." "I told you then, as I tell you now, mother, that I shall never forget Dorothy nor cease to love her. But for the story I have to tell: An hour since, as I was taking an early morning stroll to get a cigar, a little incident happened which caused me to pause and to quite forget my errand. It was only a little lame boy singing for pennies on the street, and the song that he sang touched my heart, as it has not been touched for long months, and thrilled every fiber of my being with a sharp, keen pain. "You have heard the same song, mother. You remember how I rose and abruptly left the room when some young girl commenced to sing it in our drawing-room only a few short weeks ago. To-day I listened to it, spellbound; and the boy's accompaniment on the violin held me as one fascinated. I tried to move away, but could not, as you can judge by what occurred afterward. There was a strange fate in my standing there. "I stood quite still and listened to the well-remembered words which carried me back so forcibly to my own past with Dorothy: "'Far away in summer meadows, Where the merry sunbeams played, Oft I lingered 'mid the clover Singing to a village maid. She was fairer than the fairest, Ever faithful, fond and true, And she wore beneath her bonnet Amber tresses tied with blue. "'Ere the summer days departed, We had made a solemn vow, And I never, never wearied Kissing her sweet cheek and brow. She was dearer than the dearest, Pure as drops of morning dew, And adown her back were hanging, Amber tresses tied with blue. "''Twas decreed that fate should part us Ere the leaves of autumn fell, And two loving hearts were severed, That had loved each other well. She was all I had to cherish, We have bade our last adieu. Still I see in every vision Amber tresses tied with blue.' Just at that moment a step sounded on the pavement. "A man rushed down, hatless, from an adjacent mansion, and in a twinkling seized the offending young musician by the throat, and hurled him from the sidewalk, crying, fiercely: "'I will teach you to come here every morning and to sing that accursed song of all others in front of my door. I have ordered you away twice before. I'll teach you better than to come back again.' "The unprovoked assault upon the helpless cripple awoke all the anger in my nature. "I sprang forward and separated them; but when I saw who the cripple's assailant was, my amazement knew no bounds. "It was the young doctor who comes here to attend Jessie. "He turned on me with terrible ferocity; then I recognized the fumes of wine on his breath. "'This is the second time you have interfered in my business, Garner!' he cried, fairly foaming with rage. 'Once when you attempted to take Dorothy Glenn from me on the Staten Island boat, and--now.' "I fell back as though he had struck me a terrible blow. In an instant I recognized him. I had been looking for him ever since Dorothy's flight. I had caught but a fleeting glimpse of him in the past, and his whiskers made such a change in him, no wonder I did not recognize him as he crossed our threshold; and this accounted for the manner in which he had managed to avoid me in my own household. "'You! You fiend incarnate, have I found you at last? I could kill you here and now!' I cried as my fingers tightened around his throat. 'But I will give you one chance to save yourself. Name your own place as to where you will meet me. I did not recognize you before. You shall tell me what you have done with Dorothy Glenn, or I will kill you!' "Those words seemed to recall him to his senses. He drew back defiantly, and his flashing black eyes met mine, while a terrible sneer curled his lips. "'You shall never know whether Dorothy Glenn is living or dead!' he cried. "I could have borne anything better than those scathing words from the lips of the man who had taken from me the girl I loved. "'You will find me at my home up to the hour of noon,' he said. 'Make any arrangements you deem necessary.' "I turned on my heel and left him; and here I am, awaiting a summons from him." Mrs. Garner had risen slowly to her feet. The import of his words had just begun to dawn upon her. "Jack!" she cried, wildly, throwing herself upon her knees at his feet, "is it to be a duel? Oh, my God, Jack, answer me!" They heard a crash in the conservatory, but both were too excited to mind it. "Let me go in your place," cried a hoarse voice from the doorway of the conservatory. "Pardon me, but I could not help overhearing all;" and Mrs. Brown advanced excitedly into the breakfast-room, and up to Jack's side. "Let me go in your place," she repeated. "Let me give my life for yours. I--I have nothing left to live for; you have." Jack was deeply touched. "You forget your little child," he said, gently. "Besides, any man might reasonably take up the quarrel of a lady, and, if need be, die in her defense, be she friend or stranger; but no woman should make such a sacrifice for a man. I thank you for the kindness of heart that prompted the words; but it can not be. I am sorry that you overheard my words to my mother. See! she has swooned away. I beg that you will take care of her, and let none of the household know what is about to occur." As Jack Garner uttered the words, he kissed the prostrate form of his mother, and, turning, walked hastily out of the room. _

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