AMBER’S REVENGE.
In the little Washington chapel an anxious group waited for Cecil
Grant’s appearance. They were Violet and Amber, together with the
Reverend Wesley Christian and his young wife.
The hour of seven had passed, and the early autumn twilight was casting
weird shadows within the chapel, with its stained-glass windows. It had
grown so dark that they could scarcely see each other’s faces.
But Amber had stipulated that there should be no light to lure
passers-by to enter. She did not wish to be recognized by any one lest
her grandfather should find out her share in the elopement.
“But there will be light enough at seven o’clock,” she said, plausibly
enough.
But seven o’clock had passed and the half-hour, also, and yet Cecil
Grant did not appear. Amber was loud in wonder and disapproval of the
tardy bridegroom, but Violet only trembled and sobbed nervously in her
little lace handkerchief until her eyes were blinded with burning tears.
She knew that it was strange, very strange, that Cecil had not kept his
appointment, but it pained her gentle heart to hear Amber blame him so
relentlessly for his tardiness.
“Oh, Amber, do not speak so harshly. He will come, I know he will
come,” she whispered, through her choking sobs, and just then they
heard a carriage stopping outside.
The next moment a tall, dark young man, with his hat pulled over his
brows and his form enveloped in a long, traveling ulster, rushed wildly
into the church, panting, in a muffled voice:
“I am pursued by Judge Camden! Let us hasten the ceremony, or we will
be interrupted!”
He drew Violet’s little hand in his own and led her forward to the
altar, followed by Amber in a state of suppressed excitement.
Violet’s heart gave a throb of the joy at thought that Cecil had kept
his troth, but she did not lift her sweet, tear-dimmed eyes to the face
of the man by her side, or even in the twilight gloom of the chapel she
would have been startled.
The young minister and his wife having never seen Cecil Grant, had
no thought that anything was wrong. They shared in the bride’s
satisfaction over the bridegroom’s coming, and the young divine stepped
to the front of the altar and made the lovers one as hastily as he
could by somewhat curtailing the Episcopal marriage service.
Like one in a dream, Violet felt the ring slipped over her finger, the
bridegroom’s kiss on her lips, and an exultant murmur:
“My wife!”
But why did her heart sink down like lead instead of thrilling with a
young bride’s tender joy?
“I congratulate you, Violet. May you be very happy--you and your
husband,” she heard Amber saying, gayly, but her new-made husband was
dragging her away to the carriage, muttering:
“There’s not a moment to be lost! Come, dearest, or Judge Camden will
overtake us, and--there might be bloodshed, for he has sworn to shoot
me.”
She gave a little frightened cry as he lifted her into the carriage,
and sank half swooning among the cushions. He followed, the door
closed, and the carriage clattered away over the stony street through
the deepening night.
The minister, who had received a liberal fee, in spite of the
bridegroom’s haste, lingered only long enough to put Amber into her
phaeton, then said good-night and walked away briskly with his pretty
little wife, leaving the successful schemer to return to her home and
complete her clever work.
She laughed mockingly, as she took up the reins and chirped to the
pony, and the wandering breeze echoed her own voice back and made her
shudder. It sounded like that of some mocking fiend.
She drove swiftly out of the city streets, and soon gained the lonely
country road full of rustic sights and sounds. Night had fallen, and
the sky was gemmed with stars, the full moon rising over the hills
throwing a flood of light on the scene.
Amber had no fear of the night and the loneliness. She was full of
elation and triumph, her pulses bounding with joy.
“Out of my path forever!” she cried, aloud, happily, and the low
winds sighing through the trees that skirted the road seemed to echo
“Forever!”
She had plotted a wicked and a cruel thing, and she had succeeded in
carrying it out, but no remorse touched her as she thought of her
nefarious work.
“I have my revenge on her now, the little baby-faced beauty,” she
whispered to her exulting heart.
Suddenly she heard in the distance coming toward her, the sound of a
horse’s feet, in a hard gallop over the road.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and she involuntarily drew rein in
terror, exclaiming:
“It is he! just a moment too late!”
Nearer, nearer sounded the thunderous hoofs as of one riding for his
dear life. Amber’s guilty heart told her too surely who was coming, and
the cold dew of terror beaded her brow.
“I have the worst task to go through yet, but I will not flinch. A
little courage, and it will be over!” she thought, resolutely.
The approaching rider thundered into view, mounted on a splendid black
horse, satanically beautiful and powerful. He was coming straight
toward her, but the animal shied suddenly at sight of the phaeton
waiting in the moonlighted road, and reared upward, almost throwing its
rider.
The gray pony Beauty whinnied with fear, and Amber held the reins tight
while she called, eagerly:
“Cecil! Cecil!”
With some difficulty, the young man restrained his frightened steed and
rode forward to the side of the phaeton.
It was Cecil Grant, as she had suspected, and she noted with a
throbbing heart how handsome he looked, sitting so straight in the
saddle, the moonlight on his pale, eager, excited face.
Did no pang of remorse touch her cruel heart for her treachery toward
this man whom she called friend?
Alas, no; she only rejoiced in her sin that left him still free to love
and win, if every effort did not fail.
“Amber, is it you?” he cried, excitedly. “Good Heaven! why are you
returning, and alone? Where is Violet?”
Oh, what love and even worship breathed in his tone as he pronounced
that name! It thrilled Amber’s heart with rage, but she held it in
check and said, quickly:
“Cecil, we waited more than half an hour in the chapel and you did not
come. Why were you so tardy?”
“I will explain later, Amber. Let us go on to Violet now. She must be
very uneasy over my detention.”
“Uneasy does not express it, Cecil; she was bitterly angry,” Amber
replied, with a hard, bitter laugh.
“Angry with me, my sweet little Violet! I can scarcely believe it,
for surely she would know that I was unavoidably detained. But let us
hasten to her so that I can beg her pardon, for I am eager, oh, so
eager, Amber--to call my little love my wife.”
“Wait, Cecil, there is really no hurry now,” cried Amber, meaningly.