JUDGE CAMDEN’S RETURN.
“It is quite strange how long Judge Camden stays away!” Mrs. Shirley
remarked to Amber, when the old man had been absent two days.
“I am sure it is quite as pleasant without him!” that young lady
returned, flippantly.
Truth to tell, she found it pleasanter, for half of her time was now
spent at Bonnycastle, and no one questioned her movements. She knew
that a grand explanation must come some day, but decided to defer it as
long as possible.
So she rejoiced in her grandfather’s absence, and the letter that came
from him that day contained very gratifying intelligence, as it stated
that he would not probably return for a week, owing to the dangerous
condition of his sick friend. He also requested that all letters that
arrived for him might be promptly forwarded to the general post-office
in Washington.
Mrs. Shirley was quite curious over the mysterious sick friend on whom
the judge was attending with such assiduous care.
But Amber disclaimed all knowledge of the name and estate of the
interesting invalid, and, absorbed in her own affairs, she had no
interest in the matter, little dreaming how vitally it affected her own
future.
But Mrs. Shirley fretted more than ever.
“What if it should be our Violet who is sick?” she said, uneasily.
“Nonsense! Violet has arrived in Chicago long ere this,” Amber said,
carelessly; but she did not think it necessary to tell the old lady the
falsehood that she told Cecil about receiving a letter from Violet. She
cared nothing for the meek and gentle old widow who in that stately
house scarcely dared claim her soul as her own.
So she turned away rejoicing in her grandfather’s absence, and went
away gayly to the piano, where she spent an hour playing brilliant
operatic gems, trying to while away the time until she could start on
her afternoon visit to Bonnycastle.
“How I wish that Cecil could come to visit me here!” she sighed, and
then fell to wondering how she could re-reconcile her grandfather to
her marriage with Cecil.
She did not wish to lose her chance of inheriting jointly with Violet
the large fortune of Judge Camden, but she did not see how she could
retain the old man’s favor and still achieve her heart’s desire.
She brooded often over the subject, thinking how proud she would be to
carry a fortune to her husband, so that Bonnycastle could be restored
to its pristine splendor, and herself become the great lady of the
county, as Mrs. Grant had been in the palmy days, before the war had
desolated old Virginia and swept away her fortune and her husband’s
health.
A dark thought came to her one wakeful night, and haunted her with
horrible persistence.
What if the old man should die soon--die before he found out that she
was betrothed to Cecil?
Amber knew that the judge’s will had been made long ago, and that,
after a legacy to Mrs. Shirley, all his wealth was divided between her
and Violet. She bitterly begrudged her cousin her share; but she knew
that no effort of hers could divert it from her.
The thought of his death grew into a secret, guilty wish.
What a fortunate thing it would be for her, how it would smooth out all
the difficulties in her way.
And he was old, too--past seventy. He had lived out the measure of his
days, grown feeble, grumpy, disagreeable, his headstrong temper making
him the terror of the whole household at Golden Willows. Decidedly
his death would be a relief to all. Amber began to wish for it with a
desperate longing. Her hopes made it seem possible, probable.
In the meantime she kept secret her betrothal to Cecil, and her stolen
visits at his home, waiting for Death to seize the old man who stood
between her and the wealth she was eager to inherit.
It almost seemed as if Fate was going to grant her wish, for at the end
of a week the old man returned to Golden Willows, so ill, so harassed,
so changed from his usual pompous self as to fill every one with
surprise.
“No, I have not been ill, but I have had a great shock,” was all he
would answer to their anxious inquiries; and he took to his bed at
once, saying that he must stay there till he grew better.
His first inquiry, on reaching the house, was for his letters, and he
turned them over with a groan of disappointment.
“Has no one heard anything of Violet?” he asked, looking anxiously from
Mrs. Shirley to Amber.
“Not one word,” answered Amber, quickly.
“Not one word!” echoed Mrs. Shirley, dejectedly.
“It is very strange!” he muttered, and his old gray head drooped
dejectedly on his breast.
Some great trouble had surely come to him, they thought.
He declared that he was not ill; he would not have a physician
summoned. He repeated over and over that he had sustained a great
shock, and must have time to recover.
“Did your sick friend die?” asked Amber, carelessly, one day.
“Yes, he died,” replied the judge, and quickly turned the subject to
something else.
This aroused Amber’s curiosity, for it seemed as if he must have loved
the deceased very much to suffer so keenly over his death.
But no clever hints could elicit anything further about the mysterious
dead man.
Judge Camden’s sole anxiety now was over his letters.
He dispatched a servant to the post-office for every mail that arrived,
and he invariably groaned with disappointment when he turned over his
batch of letters.
Amber watched him with blended curiosity and dread. She could not
understand this strange anxiety over the girl he had treated so harshly
and cruelly.
She said, on the third day, almost petulantly:
“Grandpapa, why are you so anxious for a letter from Violet? You
cannot surely expect her to write to you after the cruel treatment she
received from you.”
They were alone in the old man’s bedroom, where he lay very pale and
feeble among the pillows, while Amber sat near in an easy-chair, having
volunteered to read the morning papers aloud for him.
How bright and beautiful she looked in her warm, crimson morning dress
that set off so exquisitely her olive skin, hazel eyes, and wealth of
satiny brown braids. You would not have dreamed that such a beautiful
body could have harbored such a wicked soul; yet at that moment she was
thinking that her grandfather certainly looked very ill this morning,
and that the secret anxiety that seemed to be consuming him would soon
wear out his feeble life. Oh, how she exulted in the thought that
at his death all her deep-laid schemes would be crowned with bright
success. Violet was wedded to another, and out of the way, and she
was betrothed to Cecil. Soon the old man would be dead, and she would
inherit a fortune and could marry her lover whenever she chose.
All these bright thoughts were passing through her mind as she uttered
the petulant complaint, and she hoped that the words would silence his
strange anxiety over Violet; for why should he worry over the girl’s
silence, when he had so doggedly doomed her to the fate of an unloving
bride?
She was startled when a bursting sigh heaved the old man’s breast, and
he cried out, with strange agitation:
“Ah, Amber, I treated Violet very cruelly in letting her be deceived
into that dreadful marriage!”
Amber’s eyes dilated in angry surprise. She thought he had surely
fallen into his dotage.
“That dreadful marriage!” she cried, indignantly. “Why, how you must
have changed your mind! You thought all along that it was a very fine
thing for Violet to marry a millionaire!”
“I was a doting old fool!” suddenly thundered the judge, in violent
self-denunciation, and his wan, wrinkled old features writhed with keen
remorse.
“Grandpapa!”
“I was an old fool!” repeated the judge, in a lower key, and in
dreadful self-abasement; and he continued, sadly: “Amber, I believe I
have been half-mad the last few months, and it seems to me as if you
have boldly aided and abetted me in my meanness. In fact, you went
further in devising deviltry! Girl, girl, why did you do it? Why did
you put that wicked thing in my head? Why didn’t you take your cousin’s
part?--sweet Violet, who was so pretty and gentle and tender that we
ought to have worshiped her instead of driving her to her death!”
“Dead! Dead! Is Violet dead?” gasped Amber, her lips paling in genuine
horror, though there was a throb of wicked joy at her heart.
With a deep groan, Judge Camden answered:
“I did not mean to distress you with the bad news yet, Amber, but my
remorse is greater than I can bear alone. Yes, yes. I fear that pretty
Violet is dead! We have hounded her to some dreadful fate--suicide,
very likely!”
She gazed at him in consternation and wonder.
“Grandpapa, you must be raving! You look every day for a letter from
Violet, and then forebode that she is dead. What can you mean? Is not
Violet safe with her husband, the millionaire?”
“No, no, Amber; she ran away from Harold Castello the same night she
was married, and her subsequent fate is wrapped in blackest mystery!”