“I suppose you will go home now and marry Norman Wylde!” cried Juliette
spitefully.
It was almost immediately after the funeral, and the sad young widow
turned a shocked face upon the heartless speaker.
“Juliette, how can you be so cruel? Do you think I do not grieve for my
noble husband?” she exclaimed.
“Norman Wylde could comfort you very easily in your grief,” was the
unfeeling reply that sent Pansy from the room in bitter tears.
Juliette was the trial of Pansy’s daily life. She had tried all in vain
to overcome the girl’s jealous dislike of her, but it seemed a hopeless
task, and she longed for the time to come when she would marry and
leave her in peace.
“I believe she would murder me if she thought she could do so without
being discovered,” she thought sometimes fearfully.
She did not dream that her patient endurance of her dreadful incubus
and her never-failing goodness had all along been having their effect
on Juliette, although she struggled bitterly against that saving
influence.
Just now she felt more bitter than usual, for, in addition to the fact
that she believed that Pansy and Norman would be reunited in a few
weeks, she had found out that her uncle’s will was made solely in his
wife’s favor, with the exception of a legacy to his niece, the amount
of which was to be decided by Pansy.
The next time Juliette saw Pansy she began to tease her about the will.
“It was a shame for uncle to treat me so shabbily. He might have known
you would put me off with just a few hundreds!” she cried spitefully.
Pansy sighed at Juliette’s unrelenting hate, and answered patiently:
“Colonel Falconer understood me better than you do, Juliette, or he
would never have trusted your future to me. When his affairs are
settled there will not be more than a hundred thousand dollars left, as
he made several investments lately that resulted disastrously. But of
that hundred thousand I shall give you fifty thousand.”
“You do not mean it!” Juliette cried incredulously.
“Yes,” Pansy answered; and for a minute there was a silence, which the
young widow broke in a tremulous, pleading voice.
“Perhaps,” she said, “when this money is settled on you, Juliette,
it will please you best to leave me, and make a home for yourself
elsewhere?”
“You want me to go away--you are tired of me!” Juliette cried, in a
high, resentful key; and then Pansy lifted her head and looked at her
with those sad pansy-blue eyes, in which tears of grief were standing
thickly.
“Oh, Juliette,” she sobbed, “I--I--only want peace, and you make my
life so dreary and unhappy with your unrelenting hate!”
Juliette did not answer. She gave a choking gasp and rushed from the
room.
Pansy saw her no more for several hours; then she entered her boudoir
with a pale face and very red eyes, and said humbly:
“Pansy, please do not ask me to leave you! I love you--yes, love you,
in spite of all my wickedness. Your goodness and sweetness have been
growing on me for years, although I tried to steel myself to their
noble influence, and your words just now opened my eyes and showed me
my heart. I repent all my wickedness toward you, and beg you to forgive
me for my share in your unhappiness. Henceforth I will love you as
dearly as my uncle loved you, and I will do all that I can to atone for
my heartless behavior in the past.”
“Oh, Juliette!” Pansy cried gladly. For it was an exquisite
satisfaction to her to feel that she had conquered Juliette’s hate at
last by her gentleness and patience.
She accepted Juliette’s repentance by a gentle kiss on her white brow.