CHAPTER XXX.
“I WAS MAD WITH SHAME AND DESPAIR.”
“Thank Heaven, we made the jump safely,” cried Lena. She caught Violet’s hand and drew her forward, saying, breathlessly: “There is an old deserted cabin in the woods about two miles from here where we can stay in hiding to-night. Harold Castello will not dream of searching for us there. Indeed, he will be sure to think we have gone straight to Mr. Cecil Grant, while in fact we shall be in quite an opposite direction.”
Hand in hand they hurried toward the woods, their hearts beating wildly with the joy of escape. Poor Violet! she was dreaming of her love again, her dark-eyed Cecil, the idol of her dreams.
“I shall seek my own relatives, the Meads, as soon as I can, and they will call in the law to free me from these hateful fetters. Then I can marry my own love, my Cecil,” she thought, fondly, as she hurried pantingly on by the side of her friend, poor, wronged Lena Lavarre.
When they reached the safe, quiet shelter of the lonely woods, they slackened their pace and talked softly together.
“Oh, if I were only free of this hated marriage!” cried Violet; and added: “Miss Lavarre, you told me Harold Castello deceived you by a mock marriage. Are you sure it was not legal?”
“Call me Lena, dear lady; it sounds more friendly; and I am but a little older than yourself, not yet nineteen,” answered the girl.
“Very well, Lena; and you shall call me Violet.”
“But I should not so presume—I on whom the shadow of such deep disgrace is resting,” half sobbed the poor girl in her wretchedness.
“It is not a real disgrace, for you were pure and innocent at heart, dreaming not of sin, when that villain deceived you; therefore you are not really to blame, and I can take your hand and call you friend, and love you,” answered Violet from the depths of her grateful heart, and she slipped her arm around Lena’s waist and nestled closer to her side.
Her tenderness went straight to Lena’s heart and soothed some of its sore and aching chords. Stifling back a sob, she exclaimed:
“You are like an angel to me, Violet, and I will always love you. But now let us go back to your question, dear.”
“I asked if you were sure that your marriage was illegal?” reminded Violet.
“It seemed very solemn to me, Violet, and the man looked just like a preacher; but Harold Castello swore to me two weeks afterward that it was his valet in disguise, and that he had performed the same ceremony for him several times before with silly, trusting girls like myself. Oh, Violet dear, I was mad with shame and despair, for I had worshiped my handsome husband, and he seemed to adore me. And, indeed, I was called a beautiful girl, with my dark-brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and golden hair. But he must have wearied of my devotion, for he soon threw me over.”
“Oh, Lena, I wish we could prove your marriage legal. Then I should be free from my bonds and could testify against your father’s murderer,” cried Violet, thoughtfully.
“Alas, it is vain to hope it; not that I could wish him for my husband now, only to lift the burden of shame and grief that is killing me, for I no longer love him. My heart turned against him when he cast me off so heartlessly. But here we are at our refuge, dear,” said Lena, as they came upon an old, dilapidated cabin in the very heart of the thick woods.
She pushed open the door, and they entered the dreary place—an empty room with a broken window, through which the moonlight poured in ghastly gleams upon the floor.
“I have been here before,” said Lena. “There is a loft with some broken chairs in it, and we can stay up there to-night and talk over our plans for the future.”