Sweet Violet

“Amber, why are you watching over me? My head aches and my eyes are dim. Have I been ill?”

Violet’s voice was very weak and low, and her eyes tried to pierce the dim light of the shaded night-lamp, to watch Amber at the open window in the flood of silvery moonlight.

A week had passed since Judge Camden’s return from Chicago, and ever since the next day Violet had been dangerously ill. Indeed, this was her first conscious hour.

“Have I been ill?” she faltered, weakly, and Amber answered, in a cold voice:

“Yes, so ill for a week that we despaired of your life; but I suppose you will get well now, Violet.”

“Are you sorry, Amber?” for something in the cold voice jarred on her sensitive heart.

“What a silly idea!” and Amber laughed harshly, while Violet’s weak, white hand went up to her brow in a bewildered way.

“Ah, Amber, everything comes back to me!” she sighed, wearily. “Grandpapa came home and was angry with Cecil for loving me. He told my darling we must part forever, that he had chosen a rich man to be my husband. But I rebelled against his cruelty. I vowed I would have no one but my dark-eyed lover, handsome Cecil Grant. Grandpapa was in a towering rage. His eyes blazed with anger; he flew at me, and—and——”

She paused, with a terrible shudder, and Amber coolly finished the sentence.

“That wicked old man forgot he was a gentleman, in the blind heat of his passion at your disobedience, and struck your face with his open hand. You reeled and fell, striking your head on the marble hearth. Then you were unconscious for hours, and since then very ill, sometimes raving, sometimes quiet, but never conscious until now.”

“And grandpapa, poor old man—was he sorry, Amber?”

“He has never relented for a moment, never expressed any repentance. He has ordered your trousseau from New York; and, if you live, you will be married in three weeks.”

“To that mysterious man he has chosen for me, Amber?”

“Yes; but do not excite yourself, Violet. It will make you worse again. Perhaps I ought not to tell you anything more.”

She saw the wild pulsations of Violet’s heart heaving the folds of her white gown, and knew that she had told too much already.

“But, Amber, one—word—more!” and the articulation was faint, because her heart beat so fast and chokingly. “Oh, Amber, what of—Cecil?”

“He went away to-day.”

“Knowing that—I—was ill?”

“Why not, you silly child? He had lost you forever. Grandpapa vowed he would disinherit you if you married him, so Cecil thought it best to break with his dream forever. He knew you could not bear poverty.”

“He did not know me. I could have lived on a crust with Cecil,” sobbed Violet, then plaintively: “Oh, Amber, you have seen him?”

“Violet, you will have a relapse if I tell you any more.”

“I will risk it. Only answer this, dear Amber: You have seen my darling?”

Amber’s crimson lips curved in the silvery moonlight with a slow and cruel smile.

“I have seen him every evening since you were sick. He sent me notes begging me to meet him down by the river. At first it was for news of you; then he changed. Twice he forgot to ask for you, and he seemed to go back to the dear old days before you came, when he loved me so dearly and entirely. Oh, Violet, you won’t mind hearing this now, for you will soon be married to another, and then I know Cecil Grant will come back to me cured of his fleeting fancy for you! But, Violet, why do you laugh so wildly? Heavens! she is raving again!”

It was true. Violet was sitting upright in bed, her hair a cascade of tumbled gold about her shoulders, her cheeks crimson, her lovely eyes bright with fever. From her poor, parched lips poured incoherent babblings, mixed with sad plaints of her lover’s falsity.

Amber gazed at her victim a moment with gloating eyes and stole softly away to her own room, whispering to her guilty heart.

“She has taken a relapse, and the doctor said she would die if she did. Well, what do I care? It would be a lucky thing for me. I would be my grandfather’s sole heiress then, and I could win Cecil by the force of my unbending will. Grandpapa could never frighten me to death as he did Violet! I have a will as stubborn as his own, and I would cajole him into consent some way.”

Mrs. Shirley was lying down to rest for a short time, and Amber knew that the raving girl would be all alone. A thought came to her that perhaps in her delirium she might dash herself out of the open window down to instant death.

But she did not go back to the sick-room. She sat down to refresh herself with some white grapes the maid had brought to her room. She was consumed with curiosity over the man that Judge Camden had chosen for Violet’s husband.

“He says that he is as rich as the Vanderbilts, and that he has a palace in Chicago fit for a king. Violet could live like a queen and be covered with diamonds if she chose, but she prefers Cecil Grant’s love with a crust. So do I, alas, although riches would not go amiss, even with the man one loves,” sighing heavily.

But if everything went as she hoped, Amber would have all that she most desired—wealth and the love of the man for whom she was willing to risk her immortal soul.