BETROTHED.
It was the proudest, happiest moment of Amber Lauren’s life when Cecil
Grant, stung to madness by the supposed mockery of Violet, cried out in
the heat of resentful passion:
“Ah, would that I had never wandered from that first allegiance, and
wounded your true heart, dear Amber. Is it too late to go back?”
By a clever falsehood she had stung his pride and forced him into a
proposal sooner even than she had dared to hope.
He could think of nothing for a moment but his blind anger against
heartless Violet, and his sudden wish to show her that he was not
wearing the willow for her wicked desertion.
How sweet and noble Amber’s conduct seemed by contrast with Violet’s
perfidy. He felt conscious of a torturing regret that she had ever come
into his life, with her luring blue eyes and golden hair, to cheat him
with a promise of happiness never to be fulfilled.
He had no love to give Amber, but he knew that she would prize
gratitude and esteem; so he rushed into the trap she had set for him,
and looked kindly into the hazel eyes that were swimming with joy as he
exclaimed:
“Is it too late, Amber?”
“Oh, Cecil, dear Cecil!” she cried, joyfully again, and held out both
her hands to him. He took them in his, pressed them gently, and dropped
them again.
This was their betrothal. Amber longed for a single caress, for even
one cold kiss, but Cecil was too honest to proffer a wretched semblance
of love that never could be a reality.
He was paying his debt to Amber, and he was showing Violet that he
could console himself; that was all.
But, oh, the dazzling light of love on Amber’s face, the exultation in
her flashing eyes! She cried out, happily:
“I am glad that you can throw off Violet’s spell so easily, dear Cecil,
and I will try to make you happier than she ever could have done.”
“I thank you!” he answered, gently, although he knew in his heart that
her boast was impossible.
All his soul cried out for Violet, his beautiful lost love. She was
false, but he knew that he could never forget.
As he stood there gazing at her radiant face, he suddenly remembered
that the stern old judge who had refused to give him Violet would
reject his suit for Amber as well. He was ashamed of the relief that
came with the thought, but he cried out, quickly:
“Ah, Amber, what is the use of our plighting any vows? Your proud
grandfather would never consent to our marriage.”
“He shall consent!” Amber replied, with a proud toss of her graceful
head, and she added, quickly: “I always told Violet that she could have
her way with grandpapa by being more resolute, but she was timid and
half-hearted, and her love for you was not strong enough to make her
courageous in fighting her battles. It is different with me, Cecil, for
I shall triumph, you may be sure.”
He smiled at her without replying, and she added:
“But, of course, we will keep it a secret just at present, and tell
only your dear mamma. I think she is fond of me, Cecil, and I hope she
will be pleased.”
“I am sure she will be pleased,” he replied, kindly, then added: “I
wish I could go back with you, Amber, to tell her the news, but I am
compelled to meet a client at the office this morning.”
“I will excuse you, since your business is imperative,” she replied,
gayly, and kissing the tips of her fingers to him, passed on toward
Bonnycastle.
Cecil merely lifted his hat, in token of farewell, and hastened toward
his office, his mind a chaos of gloomy thoughts.
Violet’s desertion and her mocking letter to Amber rankled in his heart
with a pain that the devotion of his new betrothed could not assuage.
It seemed like a cruel mockery of fate that Amber, and not Violet, was
to be his wife.
How often he had dreamed in his doting fondness of the glad future day
when he should lead his beautiful, golden-haired love to his mother,
telling her proudly that Violet was to be his wife and her daughter,
and make joy and sunshine in their home.
Alas! the dream was over. Violet was false and vain; she loved gold
and social rank more than a true and loving heart. She had thrown him
aside, and Amber was to reign in her stead--Amber, who was true and
noble, but whom he could never love as he did her heartless cousin.
“This withered spray of mignonette
You gave me, from my heart I take,
This sick sad heart you taught to ache,
And fling it in the restless sea.
I would my thoughts of you could be
So flung away from me; and yet
I cannot break the cruel net!”
Poor Cecil! the future looked very dark and gloomy to his despondent
heart as he wended his way officeward, and Violet filled his thoughts,
to the exclusion of triumphant Amber, who had hastened to Bonnycastle
and imparted her news to Mrs. Grant.
The lady was surprised, though she did not permit Amber to suspect it.
Intuitively she had read the girl’s heart, and knew that love for Cecil
had prompted all her kindness, but she had not expected that her son
would so soon forget his lost Violet.
The truth flashed quickly over her mind.
She understood that Cecil had sacrificed himself to pay the debt he
owed Amber for saving Bonnycastle to his mother.
“Dear, noble boy!” she thought, tenderly, and kissed Amber very fondly,
while she registered a silent prayer that Cecil would soon learn to
love the beautiful girl to whom he had plighted his hand since she had
proved more worthy of his heart than lovely Violet, who had once been
her favorite.