Sweet Violet

Amber had been gone but a moment when Judge Camden entered the room.

He frowned darkly when he saw how Violet’s lips were quivering, and how the tears were stealing down her pale cheeks.

“I met Amber coming out. What has she said to cause those tears?” he asked, curtly.

Violet answered, heart-brokenly:

“She has been telling me of the letters and flowers dear Cecil sent me while I was sick and which you returned to him with unkind messages.”

“Tut, tut! Amber is a wretched little tell-tale, but I don’t care, Violet, for the sooner you realize that you can never have Cecil Grant, the better for all concerned!”

Violet did not answer a word. She remembered shudderingly the cruel blow he had struck her before, and which had caused her almost fatal illness. She could only listen in despairing silence while the judge continued, sternly:

“I hope you will listen peaceably to what I have come to say this morning.”

She bowed her golden head in silent acquiescence, but saying to herself that, no matter what he should say, she would die before she would marry any one but her darling Cecil.

“You know, Violet, that you owe me the obedience of a daughter. I have cared for you all your life, and but for me you would have had a hard life enough among those beggarly Meads, your father’s relations.”

“Grandpapa, I am very grateful for your kindness, indeed I am; but I must insist that you will not speak so contemptuously of my father’s people,” interposed Violet, with a sweet and gentle dignity.

“And why not, sauce-box? Your father was a scamp, no doubt of that. Besides, didn’t I tell you to listen quietly, and not answer me back?”

Violet sighed and relapsed into silence, though her cheeks burned with anger at the insulting mention of her dead father. She knew that his blind prejudice against the young soldier, who had run off with his youngest daughter, made him exaggerate all his faults.

“Well, as I was saying to you that night, my girl, your mother disappointed all my hopes; but I swear that you shall not. I’ve picked out a rich husband for you, and I want you to accept my choice like a good girl,” cajolingly. “Why, almost any girl would jump at the chance of such a husband—young, rich, and loving!”

“But, grandpapa, I have never even seen him. How can he love me?”

“He has seen you, although he didn’t tell me where, and he thinks you are the rarest beauty in the world—just worships the ground you walk on! He will settle a fortune on you the day that you marry him. Violet, think of that, my dear!”

She shuddered with disgust, and cried out, tremblingly:

“I cannot sell myself for gold.”

And suddenly she fell at his feet and lifted her imploring blue eyes to his face.

“Oh, do let me speak to you one moment,” she cried. “It is a wicked thing you urge me to do, grandpapa, to marry one man while my heart is full of love for another. The blessings of Heaven could not fall on such a sinful marriage.”

“Get up, Violet, do. I never had any taste for private theatricals, and I am disgusted at your lack of good sense in refusing this splendid offer.”

“But my heart was already given to another, you know,” tremblingly. “But,” with sudden propitiatory eagerness, “there’s Amber, you know—she’s not engaged. Perhaps she would take him, and you would still have him in the family, you know.”

“He wouldn’t look at Amber. It’s you he worships! And let me tell you, miss, he’s far handsomer than your vaunted Cecil Grant. Here’s his photograph which he gave me for you. Look! did you ever see such a man as that?”

He held up a cabinet picture before her eyes, and Violet looked at it with some girlish curiosity over her unknown admirer.

It represented a very dark and very handsome man of about twenty-five years. There was no denying that in looks he compared very favorably with Cecil Grant’s manly beauty.

But no sooner did Violet catch a glimpse of the picture than her face began to change from pale to crimson and back again, while her blue eyes glowed with disdain and anger. Drawing back, with a shudder of repulsion, she cried out, scornfully:

“That wretch! That villain! That monster in human form! To dare to offer me his guilty, blood-stained hand! Oh, heavens!”

Judge Camden was so startled by her agitation that he sprang to his feet and demanded, hoarsely:

“Now what the duse do you mean, girl, by calling Harold Castello such outrageous names? Do you know him? Have you ever seen him?”

Violet looked like one who had received some terrible shock.

She lay back in her chair, gasping for utterance, her face the hue of death, her eyes glaring as though she beheld some hideous specter.

Judge Camden shook her roughly by the shoulder, exclaiming:

“What, in the name of all that’s evil, is the matter with you, girl? Here I show you the picture of a very good-looking young man, and you shriek out as if you had seen a Medusa! When I ask you a civil question, you won’t answer, but fall back in your chair and pretend to be fainting! Now what is the cause of all this? I demand an answer! Do you know Harold Castello? Have you ever seen him? And if you have, why did you abuse him in such awful terms?”