She had not punished him enough yet, and the refusal to marry him on his sick bed was a stroke that secretly pleased her very much. It would cause him such cruel pain he would realize her value more. She even declined to visit him while he lay ill at the hospital on the plea that her nerves could not bear the shock. “Tell him to get well as soon as possible, so that my wedding gown will not get out of fashion,” was the gay message sent by Mrs. van Dorn, who with Mrs. Dalrymple went to call on the invalid. Perhaps it was the sight of the bereaved mother in her deep mourning that put the thought of Jessie in his mind--perhaps she had never been out of it since that tragic night. Anyhow, he received Cora’s messages with apparent resignation, and in the long days of convalescence, while she thought he was yearning for her with ceaseless impatience, his thoughts kept wandering to the dead girl, living over in memory their brief acquaintance--the first time he had seen her and been startled by her naïve, girlish beauty, the struggle with Doyle when he had rescued her from the villain’s rude advances, the drive to the park, and--the fatal kiss! Whenever Laurier recalled that sweet, clinging kiss he had taken from Jessie’s red, flowerlike lips, his heart would beat wildly in his breast, and the warm color flush up to his brow. The garbled story of a glass of wine too much that he had told to Jessie in excusing himself, was quite untrue. He had not taken any wine; it was a bewildering flash-up of emotion that had throbbed at his heart and made him yield to the temptation to press her sweet lips with his own. It was true that the influence of Cora still remained so strong that he had soon turned from the girl to watch the passing throngs for his old love that he might note the jealous flash of her great eyes at sight of an apparent rival--afterward when suffering from the effects of his accident in the park, and exposed to the tender witcheries of Cora, it had been easy to win him back. But the events of that night, when Jessie had come to Mrs. Dalrymple’s--her love, her humiliation, her despair, coupled with Cora’s heartless behavior, were impressed ineffaceably on his heart. The one had inspired pity and sympathy, the other deep disgust. “Pity is akin to love,” and now that Jessie was dead Laurier knew that, had she lived, he could have loved her as well--aye, better--than he had ever loved proud, jealous Cora, who looked on him as a sort of slave to her caprices, to be scolded and sent away, then whistled back at will. Had Jessie lived, he would have bidden this tenderness back, knowing that his fealty belonged to his betrothed, but it did not matter now if he gave Jessie some tender regrets in the few days that must elapse before he married Cora and pledged to her irrevocably the devotion of his heart. In the meantime, new influences were at work to sunder more widely the two hearts already chilled by jealousy and anger.