Sweet Violet

They carried Violet back to her bed, and Mrs. Shirley did everything possible to counteract the effects of her terrible excitement and exposure.

As soon as Cecil’s back was turned, Amber vehemently declared her innocence of his charges, vowing that Violet had fancied it all in her delirium.

No one contradicted her, for in their alarm over Violet, they scarcely listened to her words.

But that brief interview with Cecil, and the sweet assurance of his fidelity, had been more potent for good in Violet’s case than medicine. She yielded meekly to all Mrs. Shirley’s ministrations, and at last sank into a sweet and saving sleep that lasted until morning.

And, in spite of Amber’s secret prayers that she would die, the invalid began to convalesce slowly but surely, so that, by the middle of September, she could sit by the window in her easy-chair, and look out at the winding river and the wooded hills, whose dark green began to change to the crimson and gold of autumn.

Amber had been very shy of the sick-room after that night, when Cecil had foiled her clever scheme, but one bright morning she came into the room, determined to brave it out.

Violet was in her chair at the open window, and the sunshine came into the pretty blue and white room and beamed lovingly on its fair, golden-haired mistress in her soft, white cashmere wrapper, with its cascades of misty lace.

It did not touch Amber’s cruel heart in the least to see how frail and flower-like her rival looked. She was inwardly sorry that she had not died.

“Good-morning, Violet,” she said, coolly, sinking into a chair. “So you are in your right mind again, and can realize what a cruel wrong you did me that night?”

“Wrong!” echoed Violet, in surprise.

“Yes, in what you told Cecil Grant about me. I did not say he was false to you. You either dreamed it all, or imagined it in your delirium, for you were always crying out that Cecil loved Amber best, and that you did not want to live.”

“I do not remember any such fancies,” Violet answered, with incredulous blue eyes.

“Of course not, for people never remember the ravings of fever. But you fancied it all, Violet, for I never mentioned Cecil to you that night; and you did me a cruel wrong in telling Cecil that I did. He was my friend before, but you turned him against me by your cruel story.”

Her assurance staggered Violet’s belief in her own memory.

She had been so ill, she had suffered so much, that her brain was still a little dazed and uncertain. Was it possible she had dreamed it all—that Amber was not cruel and wicked, as she seemed?

Amber saw the doubt in the sweet, lovely face, and hastened to add:

“You see now that you were wrong, Violet.”

“Was I, Amber? Then I am very, very sorry. Will you forgive me?” sweetly.

“Willingly, child; for no one can be angry with a sick person’s vagaries,” Amber answered, with a condescending air.

Violet sighed softly and continued:

“When I see Cecil again, I will tell him that perhaps I was wrong in my accusation against you, Amber, for I was so ill and my mind so dazed that perhaps I distorted the truth.”

“Alas, Violet, I fear you will never see Cecil again, for grandpapa swears you shall not, and is hurrying up the preparations for your marriage with the man he has chosen for you.”

To her chagrin, Violet answered, firmly:

“Grandpapa is only wasting his time. I will never marry any man but my own dear Cecil.”

“Ah, Violet, how can you help yourself? Grandpapa’s will is law to us. We must obey him, for we owe him everything!” exclaimed Amber, craftily, advising the obedience she would not have yielded herself.

But Violet’s pale cheeks warmed rosily, and a flash of resentment brightened her languid eyes as she cried:

“I owe grandpapa obedience in everything but the sacrifice of my whole life, Amber. Why, it would be a wicked sin to marry another man, with my heart full of Cecil.”

“But the ‘other man’ is a millionaire, Violet, and Cecil is poor, with only an old name and some ancestral property, that he has no money to keep up properly.”

“I do not care about the money. I could be happy with Cecil in a cabin!”

“Poor Violet! And yet, as surely as you live, grandpapa will make you marry the other man!”

“Never!” cried Violet, with heaving bosom and flashing eyes. “No man but Cecil Grant shall ever call me wife. Grandpapa might force me to the altar with this hated stranger, but I should take poison and fall down dead at his feet before his ring was on my hand, like the heroine of Ralph Washburn Chainey’s beautiful poem, ‘A Broken Marriage.’”

“What did she do?” inquired Amber, who had not read the verses.

“Let me read the lines for you,” Violet answered, taking up a magazine from the onyx table by her side. She opened it and began to read aloud, in a low voice, freighted with the fullness of a sorrowful heart:

A BROKEN MARRIAGE.

Even Amber’s cruel heart was touched by the sad words and the pathetic voice, and she said, in a softer voice:

“Poor young bride! it was very sad.”

“Yes, but it was better to die than marry one she could not love,” Violet answered, very seriously, and Amber began to comprehend that Judge Camden would have some trouble in enforcing his authority. What if Violet should carry out her threat of suicide? A shudder ran over her as she pictured in her mind the scene of bridal pageantry, the flower-draped altar, the joyous music, and Violet dead before the altar in her bridal robes.

After a moment’s thought, she said, consolingly:

“Cheer up, Violet, for grandpapa’s mysterious choice may be as young and handsome as Cecil himself.”

“Oh, do not talk to me of that man, Amber, but tell me, instead, something of Cecil. Oh, my heart aches for news of my darling! Tell me, have you seen him since that night?”

“No, Violet, I have not seen him; but he has not gone away, I know, for he has sent you several letters and bouquets since that night.”

“Oh, Amber, why were they not given to me?”

“Grandpapa sent them back with angry messages.”

“Oh, it is a wicked shame! Grandpapa had no right!” sobbed Violet.

“Of course not, but he is like the robber barons of old. He believes that might makes right,” laughed Amber.

“Oh, Heaven! how cruel he is! How can I bear to be parted like this from my darling? The end of it will be that I shall elope, as my poor mother did before me!” wept Violet, hiding her tearful face in her little white hands.

Amber caught the gleam of a glowing jewel that hung loosely yet on Violet’s wasted finger, and she cried out, sharply:

“Did Cecil give you that opal for an engagement ring?”

“Yes,” sobbed Violet, and added: “He told me the gem would remain bright as long as he was true to me, but if false, would grow dull and lifeless. Is not that a pretty fancy, Amber?”

“Pretty enough, but I would not wear an opal ring for anything on earth! It is a very unlucky stone, and is said to bring misfortune to the wearer. I wonder that Cecil gave it to you; but then, I suppose he was too poor to buy you a new one and made this do,” sneered Amber, adding, after a moment’s thought: “I remember to have heard that the Grants had an old opal ring in the family with a very curious history. I will try and get the particulars and tell you all about them some time, Violet. There are always strange stories in old families like Cecil’s, you know. But now I must go and dress for my morning drive, so au revoir.”