“HOW CAN I BEAR TO BE PARTED SO CRUELLY FROM MY DARLING?”
They carried Violet back to her bed, and Mrs. Shirley did everything
possible to counteract the effects of her terrible excitement and
exposure.
As soon as Cecil’s back was turned, Amber vehemently declared her
innocence of his charges, vowing that Violet had fancied it all in her
delirium.
No one contradicted her, for in their alarm over Violet, they scarcely
listened to her words.
But that brief interview with Cecil, and the sweet assurance of his
fidelity, had been more potent for good in Violet’s case than medicine.
She yielded meekly to all Mrs. Shirley’s ministrations, and at last
sank into a sweet and saving sleep that lasted until morning.
And, in spite of Amber’s secret prayers that she would die, the invalid
began to convalesce slowly but surely, so that, by the middle of
September, she could sit by the window in her easy-chair, and look out
at the winding river and the wooded hills, whose dark green began to
change to the crimson and gold of autumn.
Amber had been very shy of the sick-room after that night, when Cecil
had foiled her clever scheme, but one bright morning she came into the
room, determined to brave it out.
Violet was in her chair at the open window, and the sunshine came
into the pretty blue and white room and beamed lovingly on its fair,
golden-haired mistress in her soft, white cashmere wrapper, with its
cascades of misty lace.
It did not touch Amber’s cruel heart in the least to see how frail and
flower-like her rival looked. She was inwardly sorry that she had not
died.
“Good-morning, Violet,” she said, coolly, sinking into a chair. “So you
are in your right mind again, and can realize what a cruel wrong you
did me that night?”
“Wrong!” echoed Violet, in surprise.
“Yes, in what you told Cecil Grant about me. I did not say he was false
to you. You either dreamed it all, or imagined it in your delirium, for
you were always crying out that Cecil loved Amber best, and that you
did not want to live.”
“I do not remember any such fancies,” Violet answered, with incredulous
blue eyes.
“Of course not, for people never remember the ravings of fever. But you
fancied it all, Violet, for I never mentioned Cecil to you that night;
and you did me a cruel wrong in telling Cecil that I did. He was my
friend before, but you turned him against me by your cruel story.”
Her assurance staggered Violet’s belief in her own memory.
She had been so ill, she had suffered so much, that her brain was
still a little dazed and uncertain. Was it possible she had dreamed it
all--that Amber was not cruel and wicked, as she seemed?
Amber saw the doubt in the sweet, lovely face, and hastened to add:
“You see now that you were wrong, Violet.”
“Was I, Amber? Then I am very, very sorry. Will you forgive me?”
sweetly.
“Willingly, child; for no one can be angry with a sick person’s
vagaries,” Amber answered, with a condescending air.
Violet sighed softly and continued:
“When I see Cecil again, I will tell him that perhaps I was wrong in my
accusation against you, Amber, for I was so ill and my mind so dazed
that perhaps I distorted the truth.”
“Alas, Violet, I fear you will never see Cecil again, for grandpapa
swears you shall not, and is hurrying up the preparations for your
marriage with the man he has chosen for you.”
To her chagrin, Violet answered, firmly:
“Grandpapa is only wasting his time. I will never marry any man but my
own dear Cecil.”
“Ah, Violet, how can you help yourself? Grandpapa’s will is law to
us. We must obey him, for we owe him everything!” exclaimed Amber,
craftily, advising the obedience she would not have yielded herself.
But Violet’s pale cheeks warmed rosily, and a flash of resentment
brightened her languid eyes as she cried:
“I owe grandpapa obedience in everything but the sacrifice of my whole
life, Amber. Why, it would be a wicked sin to marry another man, with
my heart full of Cecil.”
“But the ‘other man’ is a millionaire, Violet, and Cecil is poor, with
only an old name and some ancestral property, that he has no money to
keep up properly.”
“I do not care about the money. I could be happy with Cecil in a cabin!”
“Poor Violet! And yet, as surely as you live, grandpapa will make you
marry the other man!”
“Never!” cried Violet, with heaving bosom and flashing eyes. “No man
but Cecil Grant shall ever call me wife. Grandpapa might force me to
the altar with this hated stranger, but I should take poison and fall
down dead at his feet before his ring was on my hand, like the heroine
of Ralph Washburn Chainey’s beautiful poem, ‘A Broken Marriage.’”
“What did she do?” inquired Amber, who had not read the verses.
“Let me read the lines for you,” Violet answered, taking up a magazine
from the onyx table by her side. She opened it and began to read aloud,
in a low voice, freighted with the fullness of a sorrowful heart:
A BROKEN MARRIAGE.
“Stop the service! Still the singing!
Smile no more, but bow the head!
For the bride, so young and winning,
Lies before the chancel, dead.
“Marriage kisses change to partings;
Tear aside the bridal vail;
That golden band has rent her heart-strings;
’Stead of laughter comes a wail.
“No more want of marriage splendor,
Death has ta’en the place of pain;
No more need of bridal favor,
Love doth call on love in vain.
“Paler than the snow she lies--
Colder than the winter morning!
Oh, why did she so despise
Love’s devotion and God’s warning?
“She who swore to wed no other,
At the altar kept her vow;
When they tore her from her lover,
Made her to proud Mammon bow.
“Close the stately bridal chamber--
Ye may now those flowers save;
For the rose that scents her chamber
May perfume her new-made grave.
“Now the wedding march may be
A low requiem for the dead;
And arms that fain would bridge death’s sea
May seal the tomb that’s o’er her head.”
Even Amber’s cruel heart was touched by the sad words and the pathetic
voice, and she said, in a softer voice:
“Poor young bride! it was very sad.”
“Yes, but it was better to die than marry one she could not love,”
Violet answered, very seriously, and Amber began to comprehend that
Judge Camden would have some trouble in enforcing his authority. What
if Violet should carry out her threat of suicide? A shudder ran over
her as she pictured in her mind the scene of bridal pageantry, the
flower-draped altar, the joyous music, and Violet dead before the altar
in her bridal robes.
After a moment’s thought, she said, consolingly:
“Cheer up, Violet, for grandpapa’s mysterious choice may be as young
and handsome as Cecil himself.”
“Oh, do not talk to me of that man, Amber, but tell me, instead,
something of Cecil. Oh, my heart aches for news of my darling! Tell me,
have you seen him since that night?”
“No, Violet, I have not seen him; but he has not gone away, I know, for
he has sent you several letters and bouquets since that night.”
“Oh, Amber, why were they not given to me?”
“Grandpapa sent them back with angry messages.”
“Oh, it is a wicked shame! Grandpapa had no right!” sobbed Violet.
“Of course not, but he is like the robber barons of old. He believes
that might makes right,” laughed Amber.
“Oh, Heaven! how cruel he is! How can I bear to be parted like this
from my darling? The end of it will be that I shall elope, as my poor
mother did before me!” wept Violet, hiding her tearful face in her
little white hands.
Amber caught the gleam of a glowing jewel that hung loosely yet on
Violet’s wasted finger, and she cried out, sharply:
“Did Cecil give you that opal for an engagement ring?”
“Yes,” sobbed Violet, and added: “He told me the gem would remain
bright as long as he was true to me, but if false, would grow dull and
lifeless. Is not that a pretty fancy, Amber?”
“Pretty enough, but I would not wear an opal ring for anything on
earth! It is a very unlucky stone, and is said to bring misfortune to
the wearer. I wonder that Cecil gave it to you; but then, I suppose he
was too poor to buy you a new one and made this do,” sneered Amber,
adding, after a moment’s thought: “I remember to have heard that the
Grants had an old opal ring in the family with a very curious history.
I will try and get the particulars and tell you all about them some
time, Violet. There are always strange stories in old families like
Cecil’s, you know. But now I must go and dress for my morning drive, so
_au revoir_.”