CHAPTER XXIV. “LOVE, I WILL LOVE YOU EVER!” Among the passengers on a steamer homeward bound from England to America were a man and his daughter who attracted much admiring attention from all the other passengers. The man was Leon Lyndon, and he was returning with his daughter Jessie after nearly two years’ absence from New York. Lyndon, tall, fair, middle-aged, with a most serious expression, did not cultivate acquaintances, but rather repelled advances, preferring to devote himself to his beautiful daughter, who in turn gave him all her attention. It was most provoking to all the young men, who were simply wild to know the dainty beauty, and to tempt her to flirtations on the deck these balmy September evenings when the sea shone like silver and the full moon rode in gleaming majesty through the pathless blue sky. It was too bad, they said, for her father to monopolize her always, hanging around her chair with books that they read together all day, and in the evenings strumming on his mandolin while she warbled tender love songs in a voice so sweet that the very winds and waves seemed to hush themselves to listen. Curiosity was rife concerning the attractive pair, but no one could satisfy it, and when they had been three days out no one had secured anything but a bowing acquaintance with either. It was about this time that a young man who had been confined to his stateroom all these days by sea-sickness now made his appearance on deck. It was no less a person than Frank Laurier, who had been abroad almost a year, and was returning at the summons of his betrothed. It was almost two years since Cora’s terrible accident had so abruptly interrupted their wedding, and never, since the first hour, had he been permitted to gaze on her face. The restoration of her health and beauty had consumed many months, and though he had entreated to see her, the request had always been sorrowfully denied. Cora’s heart ached for the sight of his face and the touch of his hand, but she dared not risk the shock he must have experienced at sight of her poor, marred face. Still believing in his love that had ceased to exist, she feared his disenchantment. Afraid of the weakness of her own will, anxious to place herself out of temptation, she entreated him to go abroad while she was in the hands of the doctors, to remain until she summoned him with the glad news that they might meet again to part no more forever. He had been absent almost a year now, and they had corresponded in a desultory fashion, when suddenly he received the letter of recall, telling him she was well and beautiful again, and he must return, because her heart was breaking to see him once more.