“LOVE IS THE SWEETEST THING IN LIFE.”
“If I could only see my darling Cecil, for even one short hour!” Violet
sighed, day after day.
It was so lonely in her chamber, which Judge Camden would not permit
her to leave, and where no one was allowed to visit her except Amber
and Mrs. Shirley.
“I am quite well enough to go down stairs now,” she insisted,
impatiently, to Mrs. Shirley every day, but the meek little widow shook
her head and sighed:
“Your grandfather thinks differently, my dear, and of course that
settles the matter.”
It certainly settled it as far as Mrs. Shirley was concerned, for she
was the meek slave of the irascible old man, and lived in a chronic
state of fear lest she should offend him and be sent away from Golden
Willows in disgrace.
When he took her to bring up his two orphan granddaughters, he had
rescued her from a life of grinding poverty and toil, the needle her
only defense against hunger and privation. As she was not aggressive
nor high-spirited, she preferred to endure all the caprices and
ill-humor of her benefactor rather than lose her luxurious home. She
did not dare oppose the tyrant in the slightest thing. His will was her
law.
So Violet could not expect any help from Cousin Shirley, as they called
her, her relationship being vague and distant, and her interests being
centered in the preservation of her own selfish comfort in accordance
with the first law of nature.
Yet Mrs. Shirley was not cruel or unkind. She was only the slave of
circumstance, as we all are in a great degree.
There is no help or hope for poor Violet in that household, where her
tyrannical old grandfather held the balance of power.
And she knew that quiet preparations for her marriage were going
steadily forward, and that Harold Castello was expected to arrive in
three days more.
She began to grow doubtful and frightened, to wonder if they really
had the power to force her into a marriage against her will, to dwell
feverishly on the thought of escape.
But where could she go that her grandfather, her legal guardian, could
not force her to return to his protection? The protection of the wolf
for the lamb, she thought, despairingly.
The only gleam of brightness in her life was when Amber brought the
daily letter from Cecil, the fond, loving letters, counseling courage
and patience, and assuring her that, no matter how much the judge might
bluster, he could not marry her to Harold Castello without her consent.
Cecil did not really know how wicked and cruel the old man could be.
Violet had kept from him, in very shame, the knowledge of the cruel
blow that had caused her almost fatal illness.
She could not bring herself to confide the humiliating story to her
noble lover, but she knew well that he did not fully realize the perils
by which she was surrounded.
“Only to see him, if but for one short hour!” was the yearning cry
of her anguished heart. It seemed as if one look into his beautiful,
brave, dark eyes, one clasp of his strong white hand, would endow her
with new life and hope.
“Only to see you, my darling,
Only to hear your voice;
Even its faintest whisper,
Would make my heart rejoice!”
In her despair, she turned to Amber, crying:
“Oh, Amber, you are so good, so clever, do think of some plan to let me
see my darling Cecil, if only for one short hour!”
Amber smiled, gayly, as she answered:
“Those are almost the very same words that Cecil said to me about you
this morning, and I have been racking my brain to invent a plan, for,
oh! I feel so sorry for you both!”
“You are so good, Amber. I can never thank you enough. Oh, may Heaven
soon send you a lover as noble and handsome as my Cecil!”
“You have wished that before, Violet,” laughed Amber.
“And I could not make a better wish for you, dear; for I believe that
love is the sweetest thing in life.”
“And the bitterest when unrequited,” Amber answered, in so harsh a tone
that Violet started in affright and cried out:
“Oh, I--I forgot! You--you once loved--Cecil, very dearly! But oh, I
think, I hope, you have got over it, dear Amber, have you not?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Violet! It is so easy to get over a slighted love,
you know,” laughed Amber, with a bitterness she could scarcely conceal,
while to her throbbing heart she cried:
“How I will torture pretty golden-haired Violet for those words some
day! I will pay her back pang for pang all the pain that I have
suffered.”
And she was willing to give her some little happiness now, because in
the future Violet would feel the contrast more keenly between fleeting
bliss and endless despair.
So she brought the love-letters to and fro, getting her own reward in
the fetters of gratitude that she was winding around Cecil’s heart, and
she even planned a meeting for the lovers.
That beautiful September day, when the air was so still, so balmy and
sweet, and the leaves just beginning to turn crimson in the woods, she
came smiling into Violet’s room, exclaiming:
“I have tormented grandpapa until he has granted my wish, and you will
be allowed to go with me for a drive this afternoon. What do you think
of that for a victory, little Violet?”