“WHY AM I SO WRETCHEDLY UNHAPPY?”
Amber had prosecuted all but one of her schemes to a successful
fulfillment, but Harold Castello had not been so fortunate.
His greatest task lay before him in the near future.
He had secured an unwilling bride by strategy--he had now the even more
difficult task of holding his prize and winning her heart.
That heart belonged to another man. How could he wrest it from his
keeping?
He knew well that Violet’s faith in her lover’s fidelity was too
strongly anchored to be disturbed by any falsehoods he could invent.
His momentary triumph as he rode away with the duped girl by his side,
was mixed with anxiety over the thought of the recognition that would
soon take place on Violet’s part, and the exciting scene that would
follow.
Violet was still sobbing in her corner of the carriage, in a low,
hysterical fashion, seeming oblivious of her new-made husband’s
presence, and in truth she had not experienced one throb of the sweet
elation natural to a young bride’s heart. Instead, there was a leaden
weight of woe on her spirits, and touching all her thoughts with grim
despair.
Harold Castello drew close to the young girl’s side, slipped his arm
about her waist, and clasped her close, so that the golden head nestled
against his shoulder, and he could feel the quick pulsations of her
heart as she rested so near him. He did not speak, fearing that he
might not so successfully disguise his voice as he had done in the
church.
His heart throbbed with passionate joy as he held Violet, poor
unconscious Violet, so close to his heart, stealing caresses that would
never be permitted him when she should learn his identity with the
rejected suitor she both hated and feared.
Violet began to wonder at her own heavy heart.
She had expected to feel so blithe and happy when she was Cecil’s bride!
Suddenly she sobbed, heart-brokenly:
“Oh, Cecil, speak to me! Tell me why I am so wretchedly unhappy in this
hour that promised so much bliss!”
“My darling!” he murmured, indistinctly, as he pressed his burning lips
to the pure white brow against his shoulder.
“Oh, Cecil, I am so frightened! Will grandpapa overtake us, do you
think? Will he--do anything--dreadful?” continued the deceived girl,
apprehensively.
“No, no, my own darling, he will not overtake us now! Rest easy,
for your adoring husband will defend you against the whole world!”
reassured Harold Castello, in a muffled voice, hoping that she would
not detect the strange sound.
But Violet half lifted her head from his shoulder, exclaiming:
“How strangely your voice sounds, dear Cecil!”
“I am very hoarse from a severe cold, and my voice seems strange in my
own ears,” he answered, suddenly gathering her closely in his arms, and
pressing burning kisses on her quivering lips, her fair brow, dimpled
cheeks, and even her warm, white throat.
Violet did not return her husband’s kisses. She only endured them at
first in a passive way, then suddenly gave a little startled cry, and
tried to writhe herself out of his arms.
“What is it, my own love?” he murmured, tenderly, but without releasing
her.
“Oh, Cecil, you seem so strange! You do not kiss me as--as--you--used
to do!” faltered the trembling bride.
Harold Castello gave a low laugh and answered, lightly:
“I was your lover then, my Violet, and dared not take all the kisses I
wanted. Now I am your husband, sweet, and you are mine, all mine! and I
can feast myself at will on your sweet, red lips! And the more I kiss
you, my darling, the more intoxicated I grow, for your breath is like
wine--it thrills me with bliss, it makes me dizzy!”
With every word she recoiled farther from him, lifting up her face, and
trying to see him in the darkness of the carriage, while she almost
moaned:
“I--I--you frighten me! You do not--do not--seem like my love, Cecil!
I wish I could see your face. Your voice is so strange! It sounds
like--oh, God--like the voice of the man I hate! Release me, release
me! I die with fear! Oh, pitying Heaven, you are not Cecil! I have been
duped!”
The words died on her trembling lips, her form collapsed in a deadly
swoon.
The darkness had not saved him as he had hoped until they should reach
their destination.
His strange voice and the instincts of her own loving heart had
informed her of the truth.
But fortunately for his purpose, the realization of her awful mistake
had brought with it an unconsciousness most favorable to him.
Like a broken lily, snapped by some fierce storm-wind, she dropped
in his arms seemingly lifeless, dead for the present to her terrible
position.
He took her in his arms and held her close, murmuring:
“How very, very fortunate that she fainted at this juncture! I am saved
from using chloroform with its unpleasant after effects. Now, at the
rate Jehu is driving, we shall reach the retreat I have chosen for our
honeymoon before she revives! And, then, my bonny bird cannot escape
her cage!”