But even in this moment of ecstatic joy, the sword of destiny fell swiftly and unerringly upon her hapless golden head.
G.o.d pity and help her in her mortal anguish, for in this moment she remembered that she had given Hubert"s mother her sacred promise, nay, her _vow_, that she would never cross her son"s path again.
When the nurse returned, after the lapse of perhaps a quarter of an hour, to Jessie"s bedside, she found the girl sobbing as though her heart would break, and the letter torn into a thousand pieces, which were fluttering over the counterpane.
"I hope you have not heard any bad news, Miss Bain," she said, earnestly.
Jessie raised her tear-stained face from her hands, and smiled up into her face, the most pitiful smile that ever was seen.
"I have heard music so sweet that it might have opened up heaven to me, if fate had not been against me," she murmured, with quivering lips, the tears starting afresh to her blue eyes.
These words completely puzzled the old nurse. But ere she could utter the words on her lips, Jessie continued:
"I wish I could have some writing materials; I should like to answer this letter which I have received."
"Do you think you feel strong enough to attempt to write it now?" she asked dubiously.
"Yes," said Jessie; adding under her breath: "I must write it quickly, while I have the courage to do it."
The pen which she held trembled in her hand. But at length, after many futile attempts, she penned the following epistle:
"Dear Mr. Varrick,--Your letter has just reached me, and oh! I can not tell you how happy your words made me. But, Mr. Varrick, it can not be; we are destined by a fate most cruel, to be nothing to each other. I may as well tell you the truth-- I do love you with all my heart. But there is a barrier between us which can never be bridged over in this world. Your mother knows what it is; she will tell you about it.
"I intend leaving this place to-day, and going out into the coldness and darkness of the world. Please do not attempt to find me, as seeing you again would only be more pitiful for me. But take this a.s.surance with you down to the very grave: I shall always love you while my life lasts. Your image, and yours alone, will forever be enshrined in my heart.
"Good-bye again, dear Hubert, I bless you from the bottom of my heart for the love you have offered me and the honor you have paid me in asking me to be your wife. Think kindly of me some time.
"Yours, with a breaking heart, "Jessie Bain."
When next the nurse made her rounds, to her great amazement she found the girl, weak as she was, already dressed, and putting on her hat.
Nurses and doctors were unable to change her determination to leave.
"What of the young gentleman from whom you had the letter?" asked Jessie"s nurse.
"The letter that I have written is to him," she said, in a very husky voice. "He will understand. I will leave it in your care to send to him, if you will be so kind."
The nurse took charge of the letter.
"I do not wish you to mail it until to-night," said Jessie, eagerly, "for I-- I will not be able to leave ere that time. You have been so kind to me," she added, "Oh, believe me that I do not know how to thank you for all you have done!"
"A little more strength would not have come amiss to you," one of the doctors said gravely. "One thing, however, I insist upon--rest until late in the afternoon, and then leave us if you really must."
With a little sigh Jessie took off her hat again.
Remaining there a few hours longer would not matter much, she told herself; Hubert Varrick would not receive her letter until the following morning. She could leave that night, and be so far away by day-break that he could never find her. But what strange freaks Fate plays upon us to carry out its designs.
When the nurse left Jessie Bain, she took the all-important letter with her, and quite forgetful of the promise which she had made the girl, not to send the letter out until night, she proceeded to stamp it as she saw the letter-carrier stop at the door to take up the mail.
It would be very nice to send it by special delivery, she thought. He will receive it all the sooner; and hastily adding the additional stamp required, she handed it to the postman.
An hour later it was on its way, and a little past noon Jessie"s letter reached its destination and was promptly delivered.
Hubert had been summoned to his mother"s home from the hotel where he had been stopping. She had been seized with a serious illness, and had hastily sent for him to come to her at once. He had responded with alacrity to his mother"s telegram. He had scarcely divested himself of his fur overcoat in the corridor, ere the special messenger arrived with Jessie"s letter. He thrust it into his pocket, this sweet missive, to read at his leisure, murmuring as he did so: "This is neither the time nor place to learn the contents of my darling"s letter. I must be all alone when I read it."
Thrusting it into his pocket, Varrick hurried quickly to his mother"s _boudoir_. With a great cry of relief she reached out her hand to him.
"Thank G.o.d, you are here at last."
The trouble about Jessie Bain had been temporarily bridged over when he had married Gerelda; yet, ever since, there had been a constraint between mother and son which she very perceptibly felt.
She had always said to herself that he would never forget Jessie Bain, and when he became a widower the terror was strong within her that he would make an attempt to find her.
"Will the girl keep her promise," she asked herself over and over again, "and never cross his path again?"
It all rested on that. But it weighed heavily on her mind that she had accused the girl wrongfully, and she told herself that G.o.d would surely take vengeance upon her if she stood at heaven"s gate with that sin on her soul.
In this hour, she must tell Hubert the truth, keeping nothing back. She would not implicate herself, as that would bring horror into his eyes.
He must never know that she had concocted that plot in order to ruin the girl.
Hubert greeted his mother with all the old-time boyish, affectionate ardor and she asked herself how she could tell him the truth--that which was weighing so heavily on her mind.
She gave a glad cry as he came up to the velvet divan upon which she reclined, and held out her arms to him.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A MOTHER"S PLEA.
"Hubert, my boy!" she murmured, tremulously.
"Mother!" he answered, embracing her; then, flinging himself on a low ha.s.sock by her side, he caught both of her hands in his and kissed them.
"I am so glad you are come, my son," she breathed--"I am so ill!"
He tried to cheer her with his brave, bright words; but she only smiled at him faintly, wistfully.
She brought round the subject uppermost in her mind.
"I wonder what has became of Jessie Bain?" she asked, abruptly.
"Why do you ask me, mother?" he replied, evasively, flushing to the roots of his curling hair--and that blush betrayed to her keen eyes that he had not as yet lost interest in the girl.
"I want you to promise me, Hubert," she whispered, "that if anything should ever happen to me, you will not think of even searching for Jessie Bain, in order to marry her."
He dropped the white, jeweled hands he held, and looked at her in grave apprehension, a troubled look in his earnest eyes.
"I wish I could promise what you ask, mother," he said; "but unfortunately, I-- I can not; it is too late! I have already searched for Jessie Bain, and found her, and have offered her my heart and hand."