The contretemps which had been so cleverly averted – of giving the pony, Black Beauty, to Miss Vincent, and Dorothy's keen resentment – should have proved a lesson to Harry Kendal and warned him not to play with edged tools.

He was a little careful of what he said to Iris for the next few days, when Dorothy was present; but gradually this restraint began to wear off, and he grew to be almost reckless in the way he laughed and carried on with the girl, even though his fiancée was in the room. This attention was certainly not discouraged by Iris Vincent.

He smiled to see her go in raptures over everything in and about Gray Gables, and she, with her glorious dark eyes, always smiled back at him. Their chats grew longer and more frequent; they were fast becoming excellent friends.

They had sent for Iris Vincent to become Dorothy's companion, but it was whispered among the old servants of the household that she was proving herself to be more frequently the companion of Mr. Kendal, and they talked about it in alarm, wondering how it would all end. They felt indignant, too, that such a bold flirtation – for it had certainly come to that – should be carried on right in the face of poor, blind Dorothy.

"Some one ought to give her a hint of what is going on," cried indignant little Katy, the maid. But there was no one who could find it in his or her heart to warn her of what was transpiring. The blow would be more than she could bear, for she loved Harry Kendal better than life itself.

They wondered if little Dorothy guessed that he led Iris to the table, while she, blind as she was, groped her way as best she could to her own seat. They hated to see him lavish attentions on the beauty, and it drove them almost out of their self-possession to see their eyes meet in that provoking, mutual smile.

Dorothy was beginning to feel Harry's neglect, but no thought of the true cause of it ever dawned upon her.

Ah! could she have seen how they paced the grounds together arm in arm, and how near they sat together on the step of the front porch, and in what a lover-like manner he bent his dark head over her little, white hands, the sight would have killed Dorothy.

"I wonder if they think we are fools!" whispered the servants, indignantly, one to the other; and their blood boiled with rage at this open love-making.

But even the attention of handsome Harry Kendal seemed to pall upon the beauty. Gray Gables was dull; she wanted more life, more gayety.

"Why not give a grand ball," she suggested, "and invite the whole country-side?"

She longed for more hearts to conquer. Iris was one of those vain, shallow girls who must and will have a sentimental flirtation with some young man always on hand. She, like those of her mischievous class, really meant no harm while doing a great deal of wrong. Such a girl, from mere vanity and pastime, will try to outshine a companion and even win the heart of a betrothed lover from his sweetheart, caring little for the broken vows and the ruined lives strewn along her path.

Harry Kendal seized eagerly upon the idea, because it would please Iris. Mrs. Kemp knew no other than her beautiful, willful niece's pleasure. No one consulted Dorothy. She seemed to have been left entirely out of the calculation.

For the first time since Iris Vincent had come to Gray Gables, Dorothy regretted her presence there.

What would be the ball to her? Surely they ought to know that she could take no part in it, for she was blind.

When she found herself alone with Iris she spoke of this, but the girl turned it off with a little laugh.

"Even so," she declared, "Gray Gables ought not to be shut up and barricaded. You need to have a little life to keep your spirits up. You are just dying for some kind of liveliness. And poor Harry! every one is feeling sorry for him. They say he is growing so dull."

"Do they say that?" cried Dorothy, the color deepening in her cheeks.

"Yes – and more," assented Iris. "And for that reason I would advise you to study appearances, so that every one may know that he is happy – at least, let them think he is."

The words struck Dorothy with a cold chill, as her companion had intended that they should.

"Then let the ball be given, by all means," returned Dorothy, with a little quiver in her voice.

And so the matter was arranged.

For the next week Iris and Harry were busy with the invitations. They sat side by side, comparing them as they made them out, and never once seemed to note Dorothy's presence.

If any one on the list did not quite suit their fancy, they were quickly rejected; but Dorothy noticed that he never once turned to her, his betrothed bride, and asked her opinion.

There was one young girl to whom Dorothy had been quite attached, who lived very near Gray Gables, and who had run over to see her almost every day, up to the time Iris had come. Since then her visits had been less and less frequent; within the last fortnight they had ceased altogether.

Dorothy was very anxious, of course, that this young girl should be invited; but Iris put in a demurrer at once.

"Of all the girls I ever met, I dislike her the most," declared Iris.

She was very careful not to tell the real reason why.

This same young girl had been the first to notice her flirtation with Harry Kendal. They had had quite a stormy little scene over it, for the girl had attempted to rebuke Iris, in her modest way, and she had retorted by flashing out that it was none of her business, anyway, saying that she would flirt with Harry Kendal just as much as she pleased, and that it was a shame for such a handsome young fellow to marry a girl stone blind.

They had parted in anger. No wonder, we repeat, that Iris objected to inviting Dorothy's friend to the grand ball.

"Oh! of course we must invite her," said Dorothy, when her friend's name was brought under discussion. "Mustn't we, Harry?"

He turned away and walked moodily to the window without replying. If Iris did not like her, that settled the matter. He dared not put in one word in the girl's favor, though Dorothy was clamoring for his opinion.

"You must settle the matter, Harry," said Dorothy.

"Let me suggest a better way," he replied, gallantly, as he took his seat at the table again. "You two girls arrange it between yourselves."

"But we do not think we will come to an agreement," pouted Iris. "You will have to choose for Dorothy and me."

He gave her a startled, sweeping look, and she knew by that that he would not dare go against her for Dorothy.

"I must decline," he said again, for he felt nervous with those sightless eyes turned eagerly in his direction.

"You must say 'Yes' or 'No,'" said Dorothy, never dreaming that his answer would be in the negative, for on the week that she had first come to Gray Gables he had said: "I must introduce you at once to Alice Lee, who lives across the way. She is a lovely, quiet girl, and I know you will like her." And Dorothy had liked gentle Alice Lee.

She thought of this now as the question of inviting her to the ball had come up, and never for a moment had she doubted the result of his decision.

"You must answer 'Yes' or 'No,'" pouted Iris, impatiently. "Come, we are wasting time."

Iris leaned over close to his chair – so near that the dark rings of her hair brushed his cheek, thrilling him to the soul.

"You must choose," she whispered; and he knew that it was a challenge as to which he should please – herself or Dorothy.

Closer, closer still she leaned, until his very pulses grew mad with the nearness of her presence, and with child-like confidence her soft little hand crept into his, and nestled there securely.

There was no one to see, though Dorothy – God help her! – sat so near her. The touch of that little hand was magical. In the mad impulse of the moment he raised it to his lips and kissed it, and Iris knew that she had won the battle even before he spoke.

"Alice Lee had better not be invited to the ball," he said, huskily. "That is my decision."

Dorothy sank back in her chair as though a sudden blow had been struck her. She never once dreamed that her betrothed lover would decide against her.

It fairly took her breath away, and a sudden new sensation shot through her heart that had never found lodgment there before.

She drew back and said no more, a deathly pallor overspreading her face. She did not interfere again, and she suffered them to arrange the invitations after that to please themselves.

She rose quietly at length and made her way to the window, great tears rising to her sightless eyes.

They did not even notice her absence, but chatted and laughed quite the same.

After they had finished Harry proposed that they should take the invitations to be mailed. This Iris gayly assented to, and they left the room without once making any excuse to Dorothy for leaving her there alone.

The fact was that they were not even aware that she had seated herself in the bay window behind the great, heavy portières.

For the first time Dorothy wished that Iris had not come. She was already beginning to feel the weight of the iron hand that was soon to crush her – jealousy.

She awaited their coming with the greatest impatience, but it was long hours ere they returned.

Chapter XIV

Harry Kendal did not intend being untrue to Dorothy when he let himself drift into that platonic friendship with Iris, the beauty, which had developed into such a dangerous flirtation.

Gradually the girl's fascinations seemed to overpower him, and before he quite realized it, Iris had become part and parcel of his life.

On the way to the postoffice a little event had happened which had almost changed the current of his life.

They had taken the short cut from Gray Gables to the postoffice, which lay over the hills, and were walking along arm in arm when suddenly Iris' foot slipped upon a stone, and she stumbled headlong in the path with a little, terrified cry.

In an instant Harry had raised her, and to his utter consternation she clung to him half fainting.

"Oh, Mr. Kendal – Harry – I – I have sprained my ankle! I can not walk!" she said; and a low cry of pain broke from her lips.

He gathered her close in his arms, and did everything in his power to soothe her.

"I am so sorry – so sorry that I let you undertake this trip with me. Let me carry you back to the house."

"My – my ankle is not sprained," she faltered; "it was only wrenched a little as it turned over against that stone. We will sit down on this log a few moments, and after a little rest I will be all right again."

To this Kendal willingly assented, but he did not remove his arm from the slender waist.

"I am so thankful that it is no worse, Iris," he breathed, huskily.

"Would you have cared so very much if I had sprained my ankle?" she faltered, looking up into his face with those great, dark, mesmeric eyes that no one had ever yet been able to resist.

He looked away from her quickly and did not reply.

"Would you?" persisted Iris, in her low, musical voice.

Throwing prudence to the winds, he turned to her suddenly and clasped her still closer in his arms.

"Does not your own heart teach you that, Iris?" he returned, hoarsely.

"Oh! if I could only believe what my heart would fain tell me," she murmured, "I – I would be so happy!"

"If it told you that I – I love you," he cried, "then it would – "

The rest of the sentence died away on his lips for there, directly in the path before him, stood Mrs. Kemp. She might have been blind to all her beautiful niece's short-comings, but she was not a woman to so mix right and wrong as to permit Iris to listen to a word of love from one she knew belonged, in the sight of God, to another.

Iris was equal to the occasion.

"Oh, aunt!" she cried, "I am so glad that you happened along just now. I – I hurt my foot, and it was so painful that I had to sit down and rest; and Mr. Kendal was kind enough to remain here with me a few moments, although – although – besides the invitations we had to mail, he had other important letters to go out to-day."

"Are you quite sure your ankle is not sprained, my dear?" cried Mrs. Kemp, in alarm. "The wisest thing to do will be to come home with me at once, and we will send for a doctor to examine it."

Iris sprang to her feet with a wicked little laugh.

"See, it is better now – almost as good as new," she declared, "thanks to Mr. Kendal for insisting upon my sitting down here to rest."

Had it been any one else but Iris, Kendal would have said the affair had been a clever little ruse to give him the opportunity to make love to her.

But in this instance it never occurred to him but that Iris was telling the plain facts – that her ankle had been wrenched, and with a few moments' rest it was as good as ever again.

Mrs. Kemp looked greatly relieved.

"We may as well be going," said Iris, hoping that her aunt would pass on and leave them to enjoy the téte-à-téte which she had interrupted at such an inopportune time.

"I will go with you both as far as the postoffice," said Mrs. Kemp; and the good soul did not notice the expression of annoyance on both faces, and, very much against the will of each, she accompanied them there and back.

Iris was bitterly annoyed, but she was diplomatic enough to conceal it; and she could see, too, by Harry's face that he was disappointed in being so ruthlessly cheated out of a téte-à-téte with her.

They loitered long by the way, trusting that Mrs. Kemp would become impatient with their delay, and excuse herself, to get back to the house in time to superintend dinner, which was quite a feature at Gray Gables.

"You do not seem to be in any hurry to-day," laughed Iris, eyeing her aunt sideways.

"No; for it is not often that I indulge myself in going out for a stroll," answered Mrs. Kemp, "and I need to make the most of it. If I am not back at the usual time Dorothy will superintend affairs – bless her dear little heart! Why, she's a regular little jewel about the house, even with her affliction."

This praise of Dorothy was anything but pleasant to Iris, especially when Kendal was present, and she turned the conversation at once into another channel.

As they neared the house they met one of the servants hurrying down the road.

"You are the very person I am looking for, ma'am," he cried, breathlessly. "There is something the matter with the range, and they are all in a stew over it, not knowing what to do until you come."

"Good gracious! if I step out of the house for a moment something is sure to happen," cried the good old lady, despairingly. "Say that I will be there directly, John;" and much to Iris' relief, she hurriedly left them.

"Why need we hasten?" said Kendal, in a low voice. "This is the pleasantest part of the afternoon."

"I am in no hurry," assented the girl.

"We will linger here in this delightful spot, and I will gather you some autumn leaves," cried Harry. "Would you like that?"

"Yes," she assented; "if you will help me to weave them into garlands."

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," he declared; "that is, if you are not afraid of the old tradition becoming true."

She looked up into his face, blushing as crimson as the heart of a deep-red rose.

"I have never heard it," she said. "Do tell me what it is."

"Bye and bye, with your permission, while we are weaving the garlands," Harry answered, with a rich, mellow laugh. "If I should tell you beforehand, you might refuse to accept my services altogether."

"Is it so bad as that?" laughed Iris.

"You had better use the word good instead of bad. The idea would be more pleasant."

"Not knowing what you are talking about, and not possessing the key to solve the riddle of your incomprehensible words, I had better make no further reply, lest I get into deep water," she pouted. "But really you have aroused my curiosity."

"Well, when we have the first wreath made, then, and not until then, will I tell you what they say of the youth and maiden who weave autumn leaves for each other, and together. Come and sit on this mossy ledge. I will spread my overcoat upon it. It shall be your throne."

"I will be a queen, but where will be my king?" laughed Iris, gayly.

"Your king will come a-wooing all in good time," he answered, his dark eyes seeking hers with a meaning glance, which the beauty and coquette understood but too well.

In less time than it takes to tell it, Kendal had gathered about her heaps of the beautiful, shining leaves.

"Oh, aren't they lovely!" cried Iris, delightedly. "I fairly adore autumn leaves."

"I did not know that you had such an eye for the beautiful in nature," he retorted, rather pleased.

"I adore everything that is handsome," she said, in a low voice, returning his look of a few moments ago with interest.

An hour flew by on golden wings, and the wreaths grew beneath their touch.

"Now you look indeed a queen!" cried Harry, raising one gracefully, and laying it on the girl's dark curls. "You remind me just now of pictures I have seen of Undine and the woodland nymphs."

"Ah! but Undine had no heart," declared Iris.

"In some respects you are like Undine," he retorted. "She never knew she had a heart till she was conscious of its loss. Ah, but you do look bewitching, Miss Vincent – Iris, with that wreath of autumn foliage on your head, like a crown of dying sunset. When I see the leaves turn in the autumn, lines that I read somewhere always recur to me:

"'As bathed in blood the trailing vines appear,
While 'round them, soft and low, the wild wind grieves;
The heart of autumn must have broken here,
And poured her treasure out upon the leaves.'"

"What pretty poetry!" sighed Iris. "Why, it seems to me that you have some beautiful sentiment, set to rhyme, to express almost every thought! You must love poetry. Does – does Dorothy care for it?"

"No," he returned, in a low voice, and looked away from her with a moody brow.

"That is strange," mused Iris. "I should think that you would inspire her with a love for it."

"If it is not in one's soul, how can you expect to find it there," he retorted, rather bitterly. "No, Dorothy has no love for poetry, flowers, or birds, nor, in fact, anything that other young girls care for. I imagine she would quite as soon prefer a garden filled with hollyhocks and morning-glories to the daintiest flowers that ever bloomed. Alas, there are few tastes in common between us!"

Chapter XV

"What a pity!" sighed Iris, and her hand crept sympathizingly into his. The gloomy look deepened on his face.

"Do you believe that there is a true mate for each heart, Iris?" he asked, suddenly.

"I might better ask you that question," she answered, evasively. "You are engaged —you seem to have found a heart that is the mate for your own."

"Do you think there is such a thing as making a mistake, even in so grave a matter?" he asked, huskily, "and that those who discover their error should keep on straying further and further in the wrong path? Do you not believe that there should be the most ardent love between those who wed – and that where there is a lack of it the two should separate, and each go his or her own way?"

Iris drooped her head; but ere she could reply – utter the words that sprang to her lips – an exclamation of the deepest annoyance, mingled with a fierce imprecation, was ground out from between Kendal's teeth.

There, directly in the path before them, stood Alice Lee.

Had she been standing there long? If so, she must have heard every word that had been uttered.

Alice Lee had heard, and every word had cut to her heart like the sharp point of a sword.

She had feared this, but had tried to reason the matter out in her own mind; but although circumstances did look tellingly against the beauty who had come to Gray Gables to be Dorothy Glenn's companion, yet she had tried to make herself believe that her suspicions were groundless.

"Have you been eavesdropping?" cried Iris, springing to her feet, her black eyes flashing luridly.

A thousand thoughts flashed through Alice Lee's mind in an instant.

No; she was too proud to let them realize that she had overheard the perfidy of Dorothy's treacherous lover.

No; better plead ignorance, until she had time to think over the matter, for Dorothy's sake, if not for her own.

"I have but just turned the bend in the road," she replied, with sweet girlish dignity. "Your question, Miss Vincent, surprises me," she said. "I have no need to answer it, I think."

"But you always do happen around just when people least expect you, Alice Lee."

"I hope my old friends will always find my presence welcome," returned Alice, quietly.

"To be sure, you are welcome," interposed Kendal. "Miss Vincent and I were only conversing upon the salient points of a new novel we finished reading yesterday. If you would care to hear it, I shall be pleased to go over the plot with you, and hear your opinion regarding it."

"I fear it would not benefit you, for I am not much of a novel reader, and understand very little of plots and plotting."

Was this a quiet drive at them? both thought as they looked up instantly.

But the soft, gray eyes of Alice Lee looked innocently enough from one to the other.

She seemed in no hurry to pass on, and Iris felt that for the second time that afternoon her téte-à-téte with handsome Harry Kendal was to be broken up, and from this moment henceforth she owed Alice Lee more of a grudge than ever, and she felt sure that the girl knew it.

Upon one point Alice was determined – that no matter how coldly Iris Vincent might treat her, she should not leave Dorothy's lover alone with her and in her power – she would stand by her poor little blind friend, who needed her aid in this terrible hour more than she would ever know, God help her!

Although long silences fell between the trio, still Alice lingered, chatting so innocently that they could not find it in their hearts to be very angry with her; and they could not bring themselves to believe that she had a purpose in her guileless actions.

There was no alternative but to walk homeward with her; but they did not ask her in when they reached the gates of Gray Gables, and so Alice had no excuse to enter to see Dorothy and warn her, but was obliged to pass on.

Mrs. Kemp and two or three of the servants were on the porch, so that there was no opportunity to exchange but a few whispered words. They were just about to part when Iris happened to think that Kendal had not told her what was said of those who gather and weave autumn leaves together, as he had promised.

She paused suddenly and looked up archly into his face.

"What about the autumn-leaf mystery?" she exclaimed. "You know you were to tell me all about it?"

"Do you promise not to be angry with me, Iris?" he answered, in his deep, musical voice. "You know I can not help old adages – I do not make them."

"Why should I be angry?" she exclaimed, having a rather faint idea of what was coming.

"Well, then," said Kendal, fixing his dark eyes full upon her, "it is said that the youth and maiden who twine the ruby and golden leaves together are intended for each other. There, are you so very angry?"

Iris dropped his arm with a little cry, and fled precipitately into the house.

He walked on slowly through the great hall and into the library. He knew Dorothy would be waiting for him, and he did not feel equal to the ordeal of meeting her just then.

He wanted a moment to think. He felt that he was standing on the brink of a fearful abyss, and that one more step must prove fatal to him.

Which way should he turn? He was standing face to face with the terrible truth now, that he loved Iris Vincent madly – loved her better than his own life – he, the betrothed of another.

But with that knowledge came another. Iris could be nothing to him, for they were both poor.

He was sensible enough to sit down and look the future in the face. He realized that if he should marry Iris on the spur of the moment, that would be only the beginning of the end.

It would be all gay and bright with them for a few brief weeks, or perhaps for a few months; then their sky would change, for Iris was not a girl to endure poverty for love's sake. She wanted the luxuries of life – these he could not give her; and there would be reproaches from the lips that now had only smiles for him.

She would want diamonds and silks, and all the other feminine extravagances so dear to the hearts of other women, and he was only a struggling doctor, who would have to fight a hand-to-hand battle with grim poverty. And sitting there in the arm-chair, before the glowing grate, where he had flung himself, he pictured a life of poverty that would spread out before him if he defied the world for love's sake.

A dingy office; a worn coat, and trousers shiny at the knees; a necktie with a ragged edge; an unkempt beard, a last season's hat, and hunger gnawing at his vitals.

The picture filled him with the most abject horror.

He was stylish and fastidious to a fault. He loved Iris; but did he not equally love his own ease? He could barely tolerate Dorothy, the poor, tender, plain little creature who lavished a world of love upon him; but he swallowed the bitter draught of having to endure her by always remembering that she was heiress, in all probability, to a cool million of money, and money had been his idol all his life long. He could not exist without it.

He was not one of the kind who could face the world manfully and snatch from it its treasures by the sweat of his brow. No, he could not give up this dream of wealth that was almost as much as life to him.

In the very midst of his reverie a light step crossed the library, but he did not hear it. It was Dorothy.

She stole up quietly and knelt on the hassock beside his chair.

"What were you thinking of, Harry?" she said.

He was equal to the occasion.

"Of what or whom should I be thinking but yourself, Dorothy?" he replied.

"It could not have been a very pleasant thought, I fear, for you sighed deeply," she murmured.

"That is all your fancy, Dorothy," he declared – "that my thoughts were not pleasant. True, I may have sighed, but did you never hear of such a thing as a sigh of contentment?"

She laughed merrily.

"I have heard of it, but thought the words rather misplaced."

"I assure you they are quite true and practicable."

"Where is Iris?" she asked, suddenly.

"I am sure I do not know," he answered, trying to speak carelessly.

"I want to have a real long talk with you, Harry," she said. "I have heard that there should be nothing but the utmost confidence between engaged lovers. Shall it not be so with us?"

"Of course," he answered, starting rather guiltily, for he had a faint intuition of what was coming.

"Harry," she whispered, "I want you to tell me – is it true – what they are all saying – that you have ceased to love me?"

"All saying!" he echoed. "Who is saying it? What old busybodies are sticking their noses in my affairs now?" he cried, with something on his lips that sounded very like an imprecation.

"But it isn't true, is it, Harry?" she breathed. "I should want to die if I thought it was."

"Look here, Dorothy," he cried, "if you want to believe all these mischief-makers tell you, you will have enough to do all through your life. You will have to either believe me or believe them. Now, which shall it be?"

"But answer my question, 'Yes' or 'No?'" pleaded Dorothy. "I – I am waiting for your answer, Harry."

There was a slight rustle in the doorway, and glancing up with a start, Kendal saw Iris Vincent standing there, looking on the tender scene with a scornful smile, and the words he would have answered died away unsaid on his lips.