“NOT LOVE, BUT FEAR!”
“Oh, grandpapa, spare me, I entreat you! I cannot, will not meet that
man!” cried Violet, in a mixture of despair and entreaty.
He was urging her presence in the drawing-room, to meet Harold
Castello, but with streaming eyes she implored his clemency.
“Do not force me into this man’s detested presence, I pray you! Oh,
grandpapa, what has your poor little Violet done to you to be treated
in this cruel fashion?”
“Treated cruelly! Well, of all the charges, you silly child, that I
ever heard, this is the most unfounded! Is it cruel to offer you a rich
and handsome young man for a husband?”
“Yes, when all my heart is given to another!” cried the girl,
vehemently.
A stifled oath escaped the judge’s lips.
“You shall never marry that poverty-stricken young Grant, you may be
sure of that, my girl; and the sooner you realize it, the better!”
Violet trembled, but she did not reply, fearing the violence of his
wrath.
“Come, now, Violet! make up your mind to meet Mr. Castello as I wish
you to do,” he added, cajolingly, for he really believed that a sight
of the handsome and fascinating Spaniard might alter the girl’s
sentiments toward him.
Weary of his threats and importunities, she said, despairingly:
“If I grant him the wished-for interview it will only be to refuse his
suit in the most positive terms.”
“Very well, my dear; only let him see you, and you may change your
mind,” grimly.
“I am ready to go now,” continued Violet, summoning all her courage for
the dreaded interview.
“Well, but my girl, you’ll change your gown first, won’t you? That
plain white gown isn’t nice enough. Ring for Phebe, and let her dress
you in your pretty blue silk with the lace rufflings--do, Violet,”
coaxed the old man, who was a connoisseur in the matter of ladies’
dress.
“I shall go as I am, grandpapa, or not at all,” declared Violet,
perversely, and he had to yield.
“But your eyes show traces of tears, Violet. Hadn’t you better bathe
them in a little cold water?”
“No. I want him to see that I have been crying. Perhaps he will
understand, then, how I loathe and hate him!” she burst out, bitterly.
“Come, then, you cross-grained little minx!” he growled, and, taking
her arm, led her down stairs to the drawing-room, where the unwelcome
suitor was waiting, impatiently, for her appearance.
Judge Camden almost dragged the shrinking and reluctant girl forward to
the center of the room.
“Here she is, Mr. Castello--my spoiled, willful little girl; and now I
will leave you alone with her to plead your own cause,” he exclaimed,
thus informally introducing Violet and making his escape.
They were left alone in the long, magnificent drawing-room, the dark,
handsome man, and the fair, beautiful girl. She stood still, with
downcast eyes a moment, then lifted them shudderingly to his eager
face.
He sprang forward and tried to take her hand, but she hid it in the
snowy folds of her gown.
“Dear Violet, how glad, how rapturously happy I am to meet you again!”
he exclaimed, in a low and musical voice.
She was trembling so that she could not stand, and sinking into a
chair, with a weary sigh, she essayed to speak:
“Harold Castello, words of love are wasted between you and me! You do
not love me. Why profess to do so? It is ghastly fear for your own
safety, not true love, that impels you to bind my life to yours.”