CHAPTER XV.
A CHARMING SURPRISE.
Violet’s beautiful eyes beamed with joy and gratitude.
“I shall see Cecil! Oh, Amber, you will let me see Cecil?” she cried, with childish eagerness, clapping her little white hands.
“Yes, you shall see Cecil; but——” and Amber paused diffidently, then added: “There will be one drawback to your pleasure.”
“What is that, dear Amber?”
“Grandpapa suspects that I am in sympathy with you and Cecil. He made me promise that neither of us would leave the phaeton for a single moment while we are out.”
“Well, Amber?”
“Do you not see that Cecil can only come to the side of the phaeton and talk to you in my presence? Of course a third party will spoil the pleasure of your meeting.”
“Oh, no, no, no, dear Amber, for we both love you so dearly, you have been so good to us! And so it does not matter if you hear all that we have to say! For we will not have time to talk of our love, but only of our troubles,” declared Violet, frankly.
“Very well, then, Violet, you may get ready at once. Cecil will be waiting for us on the river-road, expecting to get a letter. What a happy surprise he will have in seeing you!”
“He will be overjoyed,” agreed Violet, without noticing Amber’s angry frown at her tone of happy confidence in her lover.
The joy of the anticipated meeting chased the sadness from her eyes, and brought a lovely rose-flush into her delicate cheeks. She dressed herself in a soft, white cashmere gown, with a little wrap to match, that had a quantity of fluffy white lace and blue ribbon about the neck and shoulders. A pretty hat in white and blue crowned the rippling waves of golden hair, and framed a picture of girlish beauty charming enough to enrapture the heart of a poet, a painter, or a lover.
When the two girls were seated side by side in the phaeton, the one so dazzlingly fair, the other so dark and brilliant, they embodied the poet’s fancy of a sunny morn and a starry night, and it would have been hard for any one but a lover to decide which one could claim the palm of superior beauty.
But there was not a doubt in Cecil’s mind, for, since the first moment he met Violet, he had named her in his heart fairest of the fair.
Like Violet, he had been pining to meet his love, and Amber had promised him an interview if it could possibly be managed.
But, knowing the vindictive old judge so well, he scarcely dared hope she would succeed.
So it was with no thought of seeing Violet, but in the hope of a letter from her, he waited impatiently by the river that day.
When he heard the light roll of wheels on the sandy road, he came out from the retreat where he was waiting, and his heart leaped with joy.
There was Violet, his beautiful darling, his heart’s idol, by Amber’s side, her eyes beaming with joy, her little white hands outstretched, as she called, tenderly:
“Cecil, dear Cecil!”
Amber chirped to the gray pony, and it stopped obediently, while Cecil flew to Violet’s side, and pressed her darling hands in both his own.
“You may kiss her if you choose, Cecil. I shall be looking the other way!” Amber said, lightly, and, blushing, Violet bent her head till her lips met Cecil’s in a gentle pressure, soft as dew, but thrilling as wine.
“My own!” he whispered, with a thrill of intoxicating bliss.
But if they could have seen the face that Amber had turned from them toward the blue and sunny sky, they would have been startled at its jealous pain.