CHAPTER XXII.
BETTER DEAD THAN FALSE.
“But, Amber, I differ with you. Every moment is an hour until I reach my darling,” cried the impatient lover.
“And I repeat, Cecil, that there is no hurry. Oh, why did you make that fatal delay? Do you not know that a bridegroom can offer his bride no greater affront than to be late at the marriage hour?”
“I know that you speak the truth, Amber; but, oh, Heaven! the cause that detained me was so pressing and sacred and distressing that even a bride could excuse it. Oh, Amber, there is cruel sorrow at Bonnycastle this night, and my mother lies low on a bed of anguish. I was summoned to her side just as I was about to go to the train, and in my horror and distress at my mother’s illness, and while I was comforting her with all my poor power, the train left the station. I tore myself from my poor mother’s couch, rushed to the stable, saddled Prince, and started for Washington at the maddest pace that ever man galloped to his bride. See how the sweat pours from Prince’s flanks, and my blood is rushing through my veins like fire. Violet will forgive me, I know, for my darling cannot help but sympathize with me in the blow that has almost killed my mother.”
“What is it, Cecil? for I, too, can sympathize with you in sorrow,” murmured Amber, very sweetly.
“It will pain you to hear it, Amber, my gentle friend. Spare me the recital. Let us hasten to sweet Violet. Is she waiting at the chapel?”
“She is not waiting at the chapel, Cecil.”
“Then where? For surely she came with you to the city! You said just now——” he began, but she interrupted, with a voice of anguish:
“Ask me no more questions, Cecil, for I have cruel news for you—news I would far sooner die than tell you.”
He cried out in alarm:
“Violet is not ill—not dead! Speak quickly, Amber!”
The girl answered with consummate, tragic force:
“She were better dead than false!”
“Oh, Heaven!” he gasped, hollowly.
“False!” repeated Amber, most bitterly, and went on:
“Oh, Cecil, I tried to prevent it; I told her you would come; I begged them to wait, but——”
“Go on!” he implored, and she continued, sadly:
“Oh, Cecil, call all your strength and pride to your aid, for it is cruel news I have for you. Violet was bitterly resentful at your delay. She wept wildly, hysterically, and raved out that she was a forsaken bride, jilted at the very altar.”
“My poor Violet, my sensitive little love,” he groaned; but Amber went on:
“While she was raving in her anguish, Harold Castello suddenly entered the chapel. He had suspected the elopement and followed us.”
“The serpent!” Cecil cried, angrily, and she murmured:
“You may well say so, for no arrival was ever more fatally inopportune. Of course he was delighted at what looked like deliberate skulking and perfidy on your part. He made the most of it, and boldly offered to take your place with Violet.”
Some sounds of inarticulate fury came from Cecil’s lips, and she smiled to herself as she went on stabbing his heart:
“Oh, Cecil, forgive me that it is my cruel task to bring you this news! She listened to him, poor Violet—she was always weak, and vain, and childish—and he made her believe that you would never come, that she was really jilted. She was wild with resentment, she would not listen to me. Before I could realize it, they turned to the preacher. He married them, and they sprang into his carriage and drove away.”