THE DAY IS SET FOR VIOLET'S MARRIAGE.
Mrs. Mencke privately informed Lord Cameron that Violet had acknowledged
the engagement, and would see him again when she was a little stronger.
His lordship thanked her with a beaming face, and tried to think that he
was the happiest man on the Continent, but there was, nevertheless, an
aching void in his heart that could not be fully satisfied with the
result of his wooing.
The morning following his betrothal he sent Violet an exquisite bouquet
composed of blue and white bell-flowers, cape jasmine, and box, which
breathed to the young girl, who was versed in the language of flowers,
of gratitude, constancy, and joyfulness of heart.
She turned white and faint again at the sight of them, and a
broken-hearted sob burst from her lips.
"Did I promise? did I promise?" she moaned. "I do not remember; but if
he says I did, it must be so, for I know that he is too noble to deceive
me. I wish I could die! for it seems like sacrilege to become Lord
Cameron's wife when my heart is so filled with the image of another."
Mrs. Mencke came in and found her in tears, and was secretly very much
annoyed, besides being a trifle conscience-smitten over the strategy
which she had employed to bring about this longed-for marriage. But she
exerted herself to amuse her troublesome invalid, while she told herself
that she should consider it a lucky day when she got her off her hands
altogether.
The second morning after matters had been thus settled, Vane Cameron was
told that he might pay his betrothed another visit.
This he was, of course, only too glad to do, and his face lighted with
positive joy when, upon entering her presence, he saw a cluster of
bluebell flowers fastened upon her breast among the folds of her dainty
white _robe-de chambre_.
He went forward and took both her hands in his, pressing his lips first
to one and then the other, in a chivalrous, reverent way that touched
Violet deeply, and smote her, too, with a sense of guilt and shame.
"God is good to me in granting my heart's desire," he said, in a low,
earnest tone. "May His richest blessings be yours in the future, my
Violet."
The fair girl could not utter one word in reply. Her heart was beating
so rapidly and heavily that for a moment she thought she must suffocate,
while that mute cry again went up from its wounded depths:
"Oh! Wallace, Wallace, did I promise?"
Lord Cameron saw that she was deeply agitated, and, seating himself
beside her, he began to talk of subjects to distract her mind from
herself and their new relations to each other.
He possessed great tact and a wonderful fund of anecdote and incident,
and before he left her presence he had actually made her laugh over a
droll account of an experience of the previous day.
After that he enticed her out for a drive about the beautiful bay, and
having once achieved this much, it was comparatively easy to plan
something for her pleasure and amusement every day.
While Violet was with him she could not fail to feel the charm of his
presence, and she would, for the time, forget herself and her trouble;
but the moment she was alone, the old aversion to the thought of
becoming his wife, together with all her love and grief for Wallace,
would revive to make her wretched.
One day, as they were nearing their hotel after a longer drive than
usual, and Violet had seemed to enjoy herself more than she was wont to
do, Lord Cameron ventured to broach a subject that lay very near his
heart.
"Mrs. Mencke informs me that she and her husband are contemplating a
tour of the Alps this summer," he remarked, by way of introduction.
Violet looked up surprised. She had not heard her sister say anything
about such a tour, and there was nothing that she dreaded so much, in
the present weakened state of her mind and body, as being taken about to
various fashionable resorts and to be obliged to meet gay
pleasure-seekers.
She sighed heavily, but made no other reply to Lord Cameron's
information.
"You feel that it would be rather hard for you to make such a trip, do
you not?" her companion inquired, gently. Then, without waiting for a
reply, he went on: "How would you like, instead, to come with me to the
Isle of Wight and spend a quiet, restful summer, interspersed perhaps,
with a little yachting now and then?"
A great shock went through Violet at this, as she realized that he
wanted her to become his wife immediately and go home with him.
A blur came before her eyes, a great lump seemed to rise in her throat
and almost choke her.
Oh, she thought, if she could only flee away to her own room at home in
Cincinnati and stay by herself, out of the sight or sound of everybody,
what a relief it would be!
She shrank more and more from Belle and Will and the idea of going about
from place to place with them; still, a feeling of guilt and wrong
oppressed her every time she thought of marrying this good, noble man,
and giving him only the ashes of a dead love in return for the wealth of
his affection for her.
Yet, of the two plans, the going to the Isle of Wight, to quiet and
rest, seemed the most attractive, while the yachting proposal was very
alluring, for Violet was intensely fond of the sea.
Vane Cameron was conscious of the shock which had so thrilled her, but
whether it had been caused by pleasure or repugnance he could not tell.
He feared the latter, for his sweet bride-elect had, thus far, been very
unresponsive to his love and devotion.
He sat regarding her very gravely and somewhat sadly, while she seemed
to be considering his proposition.
His thought had been more for her health and comfort than of his own
desire or pleasure, but he would not bias her decision one way or the
other.
Finally Violet lifted her eyes to his face, while a faint flush tinged
her pale cheek.
"I will do whatever you like--whatever you think best," she said,
quietly.
His heart leaped as he remarked the flush, but he returned, earnestly,
tenderly:
"Not what I would like, dear, but what you would prefer. I would not
force you a hair's breadth against your inclination, much as I long to
have you go with me. Would you enjoy the tour through the Alps with your
sister?"
"No, no!" Violet cried, in a strained, unnatural voice, as she felt the
net of circumstances closing hopelessly about her. "Oh, I wish I could
go home!" and yet where, on the face of the earth, had she now a home?
This wistful, almost despairing cry actually brought tears to the eyes
of the strong man at her side, while his heart sank heavily within him,
for surely there had been no thought of him or of his great love in that
homesick wail.
But bravely putting aside self, as he always did where she was
concerned, he gently returned:
"You shall go home if you wish--you shall do anything you like, and I
will not urge you to any step against which your heart rebels; still, if
you are willing to go with me, I will gladly take you home to America.
Mr. and Mrs. Mencke, I know, have no thought of returning at present, as
they have told me that they intend to travel for the next year or two,
and hope to see the most of Europe during that time. It seemed to me
that you were not strong enough, just now, to begin such a ceaseless
round of travel, and that is why I proposed the Isle of Wight. Shall we
go there to rest until you are a little more robust, and then, if you
wish, we will return to America?"
How good--how kind he was! And if he had only been her brother, Violet
could have thrown herself upon his breast and wept out her gratitude for
and appreciation of his thoughtfulness.
But to speak the words that would settle her destiny for life--to tell
him that she would become his wife immediately--how could she?
Still she knew it must be one thing or the other--either a hurry and
rush over Europe with uncongenial companions, or a going away to some
peaceful retreat as the Countess of Sutherland.
At last, with a mighty effort to control the nervous trembling that
seized her, but with a sense of despair in her heart, she murmured, in a
scarcely audible voice:
"I will go to the Isle of Wight."
Vane Cameron made no reply to this, though his heart gave a great leap
of gladness. He simply laid one hand gently and tenderly upon hers for a
moment, then touching up his horse, drove rapidly up the avenue leading
to the hotel, where upon the wide piazza, they saw Mr. and Mrs. Mencke
seated among the other guests of the house.
"May I tell your sister that you have decided against the tour through
the Alps?" Vane whispered, as he lifted Violet's light form from the
carriage.
"Yes," she assented, and then fled to her own room, where she sank
nearly fainting upon her bed.
She felt that she was irrevocably bound now; that she had given her
unqualified consent to become Lord Cameron's wife. She would soon be a
countess and occupy a position which half the women in Europe would
envy, and yet she was utterly wretched.
A little later her sister came to her, and in all her life Violet could
not remember that she had ever manifested so much affection for her.
"Vane has told me," she said, in an exultant tone, as she bent down and
softly kissed Violet's forehead. "I am very glad, and I fully agree with
him that it will be best for you to go quietly to the Isle of Wight
until your health is fully established. He says he has a yacht there
also, and intends to give you an occasional taste of the ocean which you
love so much. It will be delightful. And now we must begin to think of
the necessary preparations, for Vane says, if you are agreeable, he
would like the marriage to take place just a month from to-day, when you
will start immediately for England."
For the life of her Violet could not prevent the shiver which shook her
from head to foot at this announcement, and a wild desire for death and
oblivion shot through her heart.
"Well, dear, what shall I tell him?" Belle asked, after waiting some
time for a response and receiving none.
"Suit yourselves--it makes no difference to me," Violet said, wearily,
and though it was a rather doubtful and unsatisfactory concession, Mrs.
Mencke made the most of it; and, feeling perfectly jubilant over this
happy termination to all her ambitious plotting and scheming, she stole
away to impart the gratifying information to her husband, who, of late,
had seemed to be very impatient of the delay to bring matters to a
crisis.
They did not trouble the young girl much after that. Vane said she must
not be annoyed by petty details, so he took everything that was possible
upon himself.
Matters of importance, which he did not feel at liberty to decide alone,
he submitted to Mrs. Mencke, who pretended to consult Violet; but it was
only pretense, for she settled everything to suit herself, and the
preparations for the wedding went steadily and rapidly forward.
The ambitious woman was so delighted that she felt she must have some
outlet for her feelings, which would have been out of taste for her to
exhibit there, so she sent notices to different American papers of the
approaching marriage of her sister, "Miss Violet Draper Huntington to
his lordship the Earl of Sutherland," etc. etc.
Violet kept her room most of the time, for she shrank from mingling with
the guests of the hotel, since she knew there would be a great deal of
gossip over her approaching nuptials, and she did not like to be
conspicuous.
She drove nearly every day with her betrothed, however, and while with
him exerted herself to appear interested and entertained, and grateful
for his unwearied kindness.
He was very considerate of her feelings--he seldom referred to their
approaching marriage, but sought by every means in his power to keep her
mind engaged with amusing and pleasant topics.
The ceremony was to be performed in the English church of the place, and
Mrs. Mencke had sent to Paris for a suitable trousseau for the occasion.
She had spared no expense, for she was determined that the affair should
be as brilliant as circumstances would permit.
The day preceding that set for the wedding Violet was so ill--so nervous
and prostrated by her increasing dread and sense of wrong as the fatal
hour drew near--that she did not rise until noon, while it was nearly
evening before she felt able to grant Vane an interview which he
particularly requested.
He startled back appalled, when, as he entered her parlor, she turned
her wan, colorless face toward him.
"You are ill! I had no idea that you were so sick!" he cried, in a voice
of deep concern and surprise, for Mrs. Mencke had made light of Violet's
indisposition.
"No, not ill, only tired and a little nervous," she replied, trying to
smile, reassuringly.
He sat down beside her and began to tell her about the arrangements he
had made for going "home," and she was touched to see how, in every
detail, he had had only her comfort and pleasure in mind.
"Shall you like it?" he asked, when he had sketched the proposed journey
to her.
"Yes, thank you; you are very kind," she tried to say, heartily, but, in
spite of her effort, the tone sounded cold and formal.
The young man's face fell. He had so hoped to see hers light up with
anticipation.
"Is there anything that you would like changed? Would you prefer to go
another way, or to take in other places on the route?" he asked,
wishing, oh, so earnestly, that she would express some preference, or
even make some objection to his plans; anything would be more endurable
than such apathetic acquiescence.
"No, let it stand, please, just as you have it," she answered, in a
somewhat weary tone.
"Have you everything you wish? Are there no little things that you
need--that have been overlooked--for--to-morrow?" he asked, wistfully,
his voice dropping to a tender cadence at that last word, as he realized
how nearly the one great desire of his heart was within his grasp.
Was it his imagination, or did a shiver of repulsion run over Violet's
frame at this reference to their wedding-day?
She was as white as the fleecy shawl that was thrown about her
shoulders, and there was a pathetic droop about her lovely mouth that
pained him exceedingly.
"No, thank you," she quietly replied; "Belle has attended to
everything."
He arose, feeling disappointed. If she had made but a single request of
him, no matter how simple, it would have made him so happy to execute
it; but his hands were tied--he could not force favors upon her.
"I will not remain longer, dear," he said, gently; "I want you to get
all the rest possible to-night, so as to be strong for our journey
to-morrow."
Violet arose also, and stood pale and motionless before him. She was
very lovely, and he never forgot the picture she made, with the crimson
light of the setting sun flooding her white-robed form, tinging her pale
face with an exquisite color, and giving a deeper, richer tint to her
golden hair.
Oh, if he had but been sure of her love, how supremely happy they might
be, he thought, with all the bright prospects before him.
An irrepressible wave of tenderness and longing swept over him, and,
involuntarily reaching out his arms, he drew her gently within his
embrace.
"My darling," he whispered, "you are all the world to me. I pray that I
may be able to prove to you by and by, how wholly you occupy this heart
of mine."
He lifted her face with one hand and searched it earnestly for a moment,
then, bending forward, he pressed his lips to hers in a lingering
caress.
It was the first time that he had kissed her, or made any outward
demonstration of his great love since their betrothal.
Violet broke away from him, with a low, thrilling cry of anguish, and
sank, pale and quivering in every nerve, into the chair from which she
had just arisen.
That caress had recalled the last passionate kiss of farewell that
Wallace had given her just before the steamer left its pier in New York,
while it had also revealed to her the fact that he would always be more
to her, even though he were dead, than Lord Cameron, with all his love,
his goodness, and generosity, could ever hope to be, living.
He was deeply hurt, however, by this repulse and her cry of despair. He
stood for a moment looking down upon her, mingled pain and remorse for
what he had done plainly written on his face. Then he said, in a
repressed tone:
"Forgive me, Violet; I will try not to wound you thus again."
She threw out her hand to him with an appealing gesture,
conscience-smitten, for his tone plainly told her how deeply she had
hurt him.
"Forgive me," she said, contritely, a little sob pointing her words.
He took the hand and pressed it gently.
"I have nothing to forgive, dear. Now good-night, and try to sleep
well," he returned kindly, and then went softly out from her presence,
but looking grave and troubled.