Sweet Violet

Lena Lavarre was listening with breathless interest to every word that fell from the lips of Violet. The full flood of moonlight pouring through the curtainless window of the otherwise unlighted room, showed her face strained and eager, her brown eyes dilated and gleaming.

But not a word came from her parted lips to break the thread of the speaker’s narration; she was too eager to come to the climax.

Violet drew a long, sobbing breath, and continued:

“I waited impatiently for about ten minutes, when Mr. Stanley suddenly returned, followed by a servant with a tray containing an elegant repast, which she proceeded to arrange on a table. In the meantime the young man said, easily:

“‘You were right, Miss Mead. The stupid driver brought us to the wrong place; but, unfortunately, he has gone, so I had to send out and order another carriage, which will soon be here. In the meantime I judged it wise to order refreshments for you, as it grows late and you must feel the need of food.’

“Nothing could have been more kind and respectful than his manner, yet a dark cloud of terror brooded over my mind. I knew well that many gay young girls would have regarded the affair as only a merry lark, without suspecting evil; but I was full of apprehension over the anxiety Mrs. Maynard and my schoolmates were suffering. I was afraid of a scolding, and I was vaguely distrustful of the elegant young man who had taken me under his protection in such a masterful way. So, although I was almost sinking with weariness and fear, and had taken no food since breakfast, I felt no sensation of hunger; and, shaking my head dolefully, I declared that I could not eat.

“The attendant had left us alone now, and Mr. Stanley poured out a glass of wine and offered it to me.

“‘At least drink this claret,’ he said, in a pleading tone. ‘You are wet and chilled, and a glass of wine may prevent your taking a heavy cold.’

“I knew that what he said was true, but a subtle instinct warned me not to place the tempting glass to my lips, and we were beginning to have quite an argument, he insisting, I refusing, when, suddenly, the door was burst violently open, and an old gray-haired man rushed into the room.

“He sprang toward my companion, clutching his arm with a haste that made him drop the glass of wine, to shiver into a hundred fragments on the floor. He turned quickly, and they were face to face, both seeming to forget my presence.”

“Ah!” breathed Lena Lavarre, like one awaking from a trance of horror, her deep eyes burning on Violet’s face.

With a violent shudder, the young girl proceeded:

“‘Ah, Adelbert Stanley, you know me, do you not?’ cried the old man, hoarsely and angrily. ‘I am the father of Lena Lavarre, the poor girl you betrayed by a mock marriage, and deserted in this great, wicked city, and I have tracked you down! I saw you entering this place, and I followed you to demand justice!’

“‘Justice!’ sneered the infamous betrayer of innocence.

“Mr. Lavarre made a great effort at calmness, and answered:

“‘Yes, justice, Mr. Stanley. I ought to kill you, but what would that avail my disgraced daughter, my only child? I despise you, but you must remove the stain from Lena’s name, and make her your wife in reality.’

“The young man laughed derisively, but Mr. Lavarre added:

“‘Lena lies upon a bed of illness from which she may never arise; but I demand that you come with me this moment and make my poor child your legal wife, that she may rest at least in an honest woman’s grave!’

“It was pitiful, the sorrow of that old gray-haired father. My tears fell like rain.

“But Mr. Stanley was pitiless. He mocked at the old man and his deceived daughter, and refused the outraged father’s demand with insulting words that made my very blood run cold. Ah, he was a fiend in human shape!”

“A fiend!” echoed poor Lena Lavarre.

“His insulting words seemed to cut the old man to the heart, and beat down the barriers of self-control that he was trying to hold intact. His face paled with wrath, his eyes blazed, and he sprang wildly at Stanley’s throat, catching it in his long thin fingers. There was a moment’s struggle, then—I caught the gleam of a slender dagger in Stanley’s hand, and—the next moment it was sheathed in the old man’s heart! With a groan, he fell dead at his murderer’s feet!”

“Father!” moaned the hapless Lena, and her head sank on her breast.

Violet thought, for a moment, she had fainted, but presently she lifted her head, sighing in a hollow voice:

“It was just thus I fancied my poor father died! But, oh, Violet, I feel myself accessory to his death! If I had only listened to my parents’ advice, if I had not been an ungrateful, disobedient daughter, this sorrow had never come upon me. Oh, Heaven, to think of my dead father, my widowed mother, my own wrecked life, and all for one man’s sin! Oh, I wish I could lift up my voice in clarion tones and warn every young girl in the land to beware of fascinating strangers and silly flirtations!”

With a bursting sob of keen remorse and agony, her head again sank on her breast.

Silence reigned a little while, and through the broken pane of the garret window the moonlight streamed on the two unhappy girls crouching together with aching hearts.