He was standing at her side when her wild music ceased abruptly, and she looked up from the ivory keys.
“Your music sounds like a lament, or a dirge,” said Rufus, leaning upon the piano and regarding with admiration the pale, rapt face and glowing eyes.
“I meant it so,” said Neva. “I was thinking of my father.”
“Ah,” said Rufus, rather vacantly.
“I dreamed of papa last night,” said Neva softly, resting her elbow on the crashing keys and laying one rounded cheek upon her pink palm. “I dreamed he was alive, Rufus, and that I saw him standing before the door of an Indian hut, or bungalow, or curious dwelling; and my dream was like a vision.”
“A rather uncomfortable one,” suggested Rufus. “You were greatly excited yesterday, Neva, I could see that; and, as your mind was all stirred up concerning your father, you naturally dreamed of him. It would make a horrid row if your dream could only turn out true, and you ought to rejoice that it cannot. You have mourned for him, and the edge of your grief has worn off—”
“No, no, it has not,” interrupted the girl’s passionate young voice. “If I had seen him die, I could have been reconciled to the will of God. But to lose him in that awful manner—never to know how much he suffered during the moments when he was struggling in the claws of that deadly tiger—oh, it seems at times more than I can bear. And to think how soon he has been forgotten!” and Neva’s voice trembled. “His wife whom he idolized has married another, and his friends and tenantry have danced and made merry at her wedding. Of all who knew and loved him, only his daughter still mourns at his awful fate!”
“It is hard,” assented Rufus, “but it’s the way of the world, you know. If it will comfort you any, Neva, I will tell you that half the county families came to the wedding breakfast to support and cheer you by their presence, and the other half came out of sheer curiosity. But few of the best families remained to the ball.”
“Papa thought much of you, did he not, Rufus?” asked Neva, thinking of that skilfully forged letter which was hidden in her bosom, and which purported to be her father’s last letter to her from India.
Rufus Black had been warned by his father that Neva might some day thus question him, and Craven Black had told his son that he must answer the heiress in the affirmative. Rufus was weak of will, cowardly, and timid, but it was not in him to be deliberately dishonest. He could not lie to the young girl, whose truthful eyes sought his own.