TOO MUCH HASTE DEFEATS ITS OBJECT.
Dumb with amazement and indignation, Cecil stood passive in the clasp
of her clinging arms, while she raved on:
“Oh, Cecil, he is so terrible in his wrath! He threatened such terrible
things! He swore that I should never be your wife! Oh, I am so
frightened, so wretched! Would that I were dead!”
“Poor Amber! All this comes of loving me! Oh, I was wrong to accept
your generosity, I was wrong to make you my betrothed; I should have
known that sorrow would come of it!” exclaimed Cecil, in deep agitation
and sympathy, although no throb of love stirred his heart for the
beautiful girl clinging to him in such passionate love.
“No, no,” cried Amber, wildly, still holding him, though he tried to
place her gently back in the chair. “No, no, dear Cecil, never say that
sorrow came of our betrothal, for it is the pride and glory of my life;
and I would that we might be wedded this hour that I might dismiss the
haunting fears of being torn away from you by that wicked old man, my
grandfather. Ah, Cecil, darling, would that you loved me well enough to
make me yours to-day!”
The wild words were uttered, and she waited in sickening suspense and
shame for his answer. She knew, though she dared not look up at his
deathly pale face, how surprised and perhaps disgusted he must feel at
her bold hints, almost entreaties, for an immediate marriage.
He was indeed silent a few minutes from surprise and trouble, then he
said, gently:
“Calm yourself, dear Amber, for there is no cause for these tears.
You need not fear Judge Camden, for you shall remain with us at
Bonnycastle, in my mother’s charge until--until I can make arrangements
for our early marriage.”
Ah, how cruelly it pained his heart, still sore and aching from
Violet’s loss, to promise Amber an early marriage; but her distress
wounded him, and the debt of gratitude he owed her must be paid, at any
cost.
But her agitation only increased, and she cried, in anguish:
“Alas, alas, he may come at any moment to tear me from you! Oh, Cecil,
dear Cecil, forgive me if I seem unmaidenly--if I speak where I ought
to be silent; but I swear to you that my whole life’s happiness rests
on your instant decision, and on the keeping of your faith with me!”
“What would you have me do, Amber?” he asked, in a perplexed tone,
thinking to himself that although her terrors were exaggerated, it was
best to humor her hysterical mood.
With a great throb of hope at her heart, she answered:
“I can never be safe from that vindictive old man until I am your wife,
dear Cecil; and if you care for me, if you value my happiness at all,
surely you will consent to my wish. Listen: my phaeton is at the gate
waiting. Let us fly this hour to Washington and be married. Then we can
return and defy my tyrannical guardian!”
There was a long pause. Amber hid her face against his shoulder, and
the mother and son looked at each other, his eyes questioning, hers
grave, but--affirmative.
“You cannot refuse,” her grave eyes said, sadly enough, for she was
shocked and pained at the girl’s boldness.
Amber lifted her head proudly.
“I am refused. Very well, I will go,” she began, drawing back from him,
but he answered, quietly:
“You are hasty, Amber; I was about to say that it should be as you
wish. You will excuse me one moment while I get ready,” and he went
out, soon returning wrapped in his thick fur-lined overcoat, for a
long, cold drive lay before them, and the air was thick with snowflakes.
Surely never was elopement so quickly planned before, for in ten
minutes they were seated in the phaeton warmly wrapped about in
heavy robes, and the gray pony was skimming over the road to
Washington, bearing the handsome pair--Amber thrilling with joy, Cecil
heavy-hearted and miserable.
The air was keenly cold, and the snow began to fall so fast that the
air was thick with whirling flakes. Amber held the reins herself, and
urged the pony to his highest speed as they flew over mile after mile
of the lonely road in the gloom of the wintry afternoon.
Every moment was an hour to her impatient heart until they should reach
the minister’s and be made one ere Cecil learned that his fair young
love, so cruelly torn away from him, was already widowed and had always
been true to him at heart. Let but this knowledge reach him ere the
marriage, and Amber knew that all her hopes would be overthrown.
It frightened her to think of the letter to Cecil lying hidden on her
breast inside the folds of her warm sealskin jacket, and she determined
to destroy it at the very first opportunity.
They were five miles on their way now, and they had come so fast that
the gray pony was reeking with sweat in spite of the wintry cold.
Cecil ventured to expostulate, but she turned on him with a white,
reproachful face.
“One would think you were reluctant to reach Washington!” she exclaimed.
“You mistake me, dear Amber; but you will kill the poor animal if you
keep up this rate of speed!”
For answer she touched the pony’s back with the whip, and the brave
little animal flew forward like the wind, maintaining its high rate of
speed for half a mile.
Then--perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from some obstruction in the
road--Cecil never knew which--an accident happened.
The brave pony stumbled and fell, and Cecil and Amber were both thrown
violently out of the phaeton, on either side of the road into the soft
white bed of snow with which Mother Nature was spreading the earth.