VIOLET RETURNS TO AMERICA.
Meanwhile the kind-hearted peasant girl, Lisette, feeling as if she had
suddenly been changed into another being by some good fairy--and she
certainly looked like a different person, clad as she was like a
lady--was walking at a swinging pace toward Mentone, and--her doom.
She intended to walk until the day began to dawn, and then beg a ride to
Monaco in one of the market-carts which made daily trips from the
country to that city.
It was still very dark, and the road, which lay up a steep hill, was
very narrow, and ran dangerously near the cliffs which overhung the sea.
The girl had worked very hard the previous day, while she had slept none
that night, for she had been too much excited, over the thought of
leaving her home, to rest, and she now began to experience a feeling of
weariness and languor stealing over her. It was the reaction coming on,
while added to that was a feeling of dread and loneliness over the
uncertainty of the future.
More than this, she found the boots, which Violet had insisted must go
with the rest of her costume, were too tight to be comfortable, and this
greatly impeded her progress.
She climbed to the top of the cliffs and there sat down by the road-side
upon a huge bowlder, where she had rested many a time before, to recover
herself a little before going on.
The stone was an irregular one, with a projection which formed a support
for her back, and leaning against this, she was overcome by weariness
before she knew it and fell into a sound sleep.
It did not seem as if ten minutes had elapsed since she sat down, though
in reality it was more than half an hour when the sound of a galloping
horse aroused her.
She started to her feet, a cry of terror and dismay breaking from her.
It was still so dark that she could see nothing any distance away, but
the sound of that swiftly advancing horse made her heart beat with
fearful throbs.
Was it some pursuer coming in search of her?
Had her flight been discovered at home, and was her tyrannical
step-father coming to force her back into wearisome servitude? or, worse
yet, to sell her to another man equally brutal and unkind?
She started to flee, but, not being able to clearly distinguish the
road, while she was sadly bewildered by having been so suddenly aroused
from her sleep, she turned in the wrong direction and made straight for
the edge of the cliff.
It was very strange--as familiar as she was with every inch of the
ground between her home and Mentone--that she could have become so
confused and lost as to her location, and it was only when she caught
the ominous sound of the washing of the waves against the rocks below
that she became conscious of her danger.
But she was rushing at such headlong speed she could not save herself; a
low shuddering cry of terror burst from her lips as she suddenly lost
her balance; there was a short interval of silence, followed by a heavy
splash in the waters below, then the waves closed over the unfortunate
girl, and the ocean held the secret of her fate, as well as of Violet's
mysterious disappearance.
The cliff was very high at that point, and projected considerably over
the sea, which was very deep just there.
The girl sank at once to the bottom, and her clothing probably becoming
entangled among the rocks, her body was held there for some weeks, and
only disturbed and washed far below to the point where the fishermen had
found it after a storm of considerable violence.
It was, of course, unrecognizable, but every article which she wore
tended to prove that she was Vane Cameron's lost bride-elect. As such he
claimed her, without a doubt as to her identity, and, as we already
know, laid her to rest beneath the shadow of the venerable beech in one
corner of the church-yard at Mentone.
Lisette's parents never once suspected what her fate had been.
Upon discovering that she had fled, her iron-hearted master had started
in search of her, vowing that she should pay dearly for daring to run
away from him, and the future that he had planned for her.
He learned that a peasant girl, answering to her description, had
boarded the westward-bound train at the village, in the early morning,
and had left it again at Nice.
He hastened hither at once, and was told that such a girl had been seen
in the waiting-room of the station; but further than that he could get
no trace of her, and was finally obliged to return to his home, where,
upon the other members of his family, he vented his disappointment and
anger over the loss of such valuable help.
The mother, who was far superior to her husband in every way, grieved
long and bitterly over the loss of her first-born, but it was many
months before she learned the truth regarding her untimely end.
* * * * * *
Violet's journey to Paris was accomplished with very little weariness
and nothing of incident. Her first business upon reaching the French
metropolis was to go to a lady's furnishing house, where she purchased a
simple but comfortable outfit, after which she proceeded to a
respectable _pension_, which she had heard highly recommended by some
Americans whom she had met in London.
It was fortunate that she had a liberal supply of money in her
possession. She had never been stinted, for it was supposed that she was
the heir to a large fortune, and a certain income was paid to her
quarterly. Since she had been joined by her sister and her husband she
had not had occasion to use much money, as Mr. Mencke had settled all
her bills, and she had several hundred dollars in her possession at the
time of her flight.
This fact, together with the discovery that she could find a very safe
and pleasant home for a time in the _pension_, where she was stopping,
somewhat changed her original plan of returning directly to America, and
she resolved to remain in Paris a while for the purpose of perfecting
herself more fully in French, and also to take a few finishing lessons
in music, for she had determined to make use of these branches in
supporting herself in the future.
She threw her whole heart into her work, and few people would have
recognized in this grave, studious girl, the bright, laughing, care-free
Violet who had been such a favorite among her friends in Cincinnati the
year previous.
She put herself under the best of teachers, and made the most of her
time and opportunities; thus nearly four months slipped by, and then she
resolved to go home to America.
It was the last of September when she left Paris for London, where she
remained several days to make preparations for her voyage, before
proceeding to Glasgow to take the steamer, she having decided to sail
from there, because she could obtain a comfortable passage at cheaper
rates on the Anchor Line, and it was now becoming necessary for her to
husband her funds a little.
It was the fifth of October when she left London for Glasgow, and it was
her face that Wallace had seen looking from that carriage window as he
was detained for a few minutes by a blockade in the street.
Violet, however, was wholly unconscious of her proximity to her
lover--or her husband, as we now know him to be. She was deeply absorbed
in her own thoughts, and was gazing at nothing in particular; therefore,
the carriage that she was in had passed Lord Cameron's without her
having a suspicion that she had attracted the attention of any one.
She was driven on to the Midland Grand station, where she took a train
for Glasgow, and that evening boarded the Circassia for New York, where
she arrived eleven days later--three days after the return of Wallace,
who had sailed on a faster vessel.
One can imagine something of the loneliness and desolation which this
young and delicately reared girl experienced upon finding herself adrift
and an utter stranger in that great city and with but little money in
her purse.
She longed to learn the circumstances of Wallace's supposed death, her
grief over which had been newly aroused on returning to her native land.
She had known before leaving for Europe that he had received an offer of
partnership with some New York architect; but he had not mentioned the
name of the gentleman before she left, and not having received any of
his letters, she did not know whether he had closed with the offer, and
therefore, did not know where to go to make any inquiries relative to
his movements after her departure.
She dare not go to Cincinnati to ascertain--she dare not write to ask
anything about him, for she was determined that her sister should not
know where she was. She had become entirely alienated by her unkindness,
and felt that she would much prefer to toil for her daily bread than to
go back to her and be subject to her arbitrary control again.
"There are hundreds of girls as young as I, even younger, who have to
support themselves, and I believe I am just as capable of earning my own
living," she mused, considering her future. "At any rate, I am
determined to make the trial, and if I find I cannot earn a living there
will be time enough then to appeal to the court to appoint a different
guardian for me, and demand my money from Wilhelm."
The poor child had yet to learn that there was no money to demand.
She found a quiet, respectable boarding-place a few days after her
arrival in New York, and then took time by the forelock, by inserting
the following advertisement in two of the daily papers:
A LADY, JUST RETURNED FROM EUROPE,
and fitted to teach music and French, would like
a few pupils. Address H, at this office.
Two days thereafter Violet received a single letter in answer to her
advertisement, and it read thus:
"If H. will call at No. ---- Fifth avenue, she
may learn something to her advantage."
Violet was greatly disappointed to receive only one response; but she
argued that one pupil might open the way for others; so she dressed
herself with great care, took her music-roll under her arm, and made her
way to the address mentioned.
"No. ---- Fifth avenue" proved to be a palatial residence, with the name
Lawrence gleaming in silver letters upon the door, and Violet's heart
sank a little as she mounted the marble steps, for she feared that she
might not be competent to teach in an aristocratic family such as
doubtless inhabited this elegant mansion.
Her ring was answered by a colored servant, in livery to whom she stated
her errand, giving him her card, whereupon she was ushered into a
reception-room upon the right of a magnificent hall.
Everything about her bespoke unlimited wealth, while the most perfect
taste was displayed in the harmonizing tints of everything, the costly
pictures, statuettes, bric-a-brac, and curios.
Ten minutes elapsed. It seemed an age to anxious Violet; then the rich
draperies of the archway leading into the hall were swept aside, and a
tall, finely proportioned man of perhaps fifty years entered her
presence.
He was distinguished-looking, with clear-cut features, an intelligent,
expressive eye, and a grandly shaped head; but there was a worn look on
his brow, a sad and anxious expression on his face that bespoke care and
sorrow.
"Miss Huntington, I presume," he remarked, bowing gravely yet
courteously to her, as he glanced at the card which she had sent him by
the servant.
"Yes, sir," Violet replied, and taking the letter, which she had
received that morning, from her hand-bag, she passed it to him, while
she added: "I have come to inquire if I am to find a pupil here. I
judged that such must be the fact, since the letter was in response to
my advertisement."
Mr. Lawrence did not reply immediately; he seemed to be studying the
beautiful girl before him--the sad though lovely face, which was crowned
with such a mass of gleaming gold; the graceful figure, in its simple
but tasteful costume, while the small hand, so neatly incased in its
perfectly fitting glove, and the little foot, in its natty walking-boot,
did not escape his observation.
It was easy to perceive that he was favorably impressed by his fair
visitor, for when he did speak, he was more kind and courteous than
before.
"I was impressed, Miss Huntington, when I read your advertisement, that
you were a young lady in search of employment," he said; "and as I am
also looking for some young lady to fill a vacancy, it occurred to me
that, although you had advertised for 'pupils,' you might be
persuaded--if we should be mutually pleased with each other--to devote
yourself to one, provided the remuneration were sufficient."
"Ah! you are looking for a governess," Violet remarked, with a quiet
smile, and in no wise displeased by the proposition.
"Not a governess, according to the common acceptation of the term," the
gentleman returned, in a sad tone. "But let me tell you exactly how I am
situated, and what I desire; then you can decide as to the desirability
of the position. I have a daughter," Mr. Lawrence resumed, after a
moment of thought, "who is in her twelfth year. She is blind----"
"Blind!" repeated Violet, in such a tender, sympathetic tone, and with
such a compassionate glance that her companion's face lighted with a
grateful smile.
"Yes," he answered, "she was born totally blind. It is a peculiar case,
and I have been told there is only one other on record like it. It is
called cataract of the lens; but when my child was nine months old a
noted oculist, whom we consulted, thought that an operation might be
performed which would at least give her a portion of her sight. Of
course, I was willing to consent to anything that would mitigate, even
to the smallest extent, her heavy affliction. The cataracts were
punctured through the pupils, and she saw, very faintly at first, but,
as time elapsed and the cataracts began to be absorbed, her sight
strengthened somewhat. Her sight is very limited, however; she can see
to get about the house, and distinguishes objects of any size with the
aid of glasses, but not well enough to read, and whatever she learns is
taught by reading aloud to her. She has a remarkable memory, as most
blind people have, I believe, and she is extremely fond of music, both
vocal and instrumental. Do you sing, Miss Huntington?" Mr. Lawrence
asked, suddenly breaking in upon his account of his little daughter's
condition.
"Yes, sir, I have spent more time upon vocal culture than upon
instrumental music," Violet responded, and this assurance drew forth a
smile of approbation from her host.
"I have had many governesses for her," the gentleman resumed, "and she
has spent two years in an institution for the blind, though for the last
six months I have been obliged myself to teach her all that she has
learned. And now I come to the most trying portion of my story," he
added, a slight flush tinging his face. "I feel it is only right that I
should be perfectly frank with you in the matter, and so feel obliged to
tell you that Bertha possesses a very strong, an almost indomitable
will, and there are times when she becomes sullen and unmanageable. She
will not study, she will not practice, or do anything which she imagines
is required of her; and thus, for a time, the whole household is in a
most uncomfortable state; for while she refuses obedience to others, she
is equally insistent upon requiring instant compliance with all her
demands. When the fit passes she is again gentle, merry and lovable.
Now, my object in sending for you Miss Huntington, was, providing I was
favorably impressed with you, to ask if you would consent to devote all
your time to one pupil instead of several. The position will require a
steady, persistent, even temperament--one of mingled gentleness and
firmness--and I believe I see lines of decision in your face; you have a
strong will, have you not?"
"I have been told that I have," Violet replied, smiling, "but"--growing
very grave again--"whether I possess firmness sufficient to cope with
the will you have described, I cannot say. I have never had any
experience in the government of children; but I should say that tact
would prove more effective in the management of your daughter than an
obstinate insistence regarding obedience."
Mr. Lawrence's face lighted at this remark.
"That is the wisest observation that I have ever heard any governess
make regarding the control of Bertha," he said. "Miss Huntington, will
you make a trial of it for a while?"
Still Violet looked grave. She felt that the responsibility would be a
great one, and she trembled for the result.
Yet her sympathies were enlisted both for this careworn, perplexed
father, and for his afflicted child, while, too, the idea of a
permanent, pleasant home was an attractive feature to her.
"Money would be no object," Mr. Lawrence continued, as she did not
reply, "if the right person could be obtained, and if you could but
achieve a strong influence over the child and sway her by tact, or by
any other method, I would gladly give you any price you choose to name.
Somehow I feel impelled to urge you to come to us--the very fact that
you hesitate to accept the position assures me that you are wise in the
consideration of all projects."