A beautiful villa at Florence had been purchased, and the small family had settled down there for the winter. It was a very pleasant neighborhood, and one evening they were entertaining a small party of friends, when the colonel suddenly complained of severe pains, and a physician was at once summoned to his side. But medical skill proved vain, for within an hour he died, as Juliette’s mother had died, of heart failure.
He comprehended that the end was near, for, between the paroxysms of pain, he whispered to Pansy:
“You have made this past year very happy, my darling. I have never had cause to believe that you cherished a single regret.”
CHAPTER XLIII.
A LOVELY WIDOW.
“I suppose you will go home now and marry Norman Wylde!” cried Juliette spitefully.
It was almost immediately after the funeral, and the sad young widow turned a shocked face upon the heartless speaker.
“Juliette, how can you be so cruel? Do you think I do not grieve for my noble husband?” she exclaimed.
“Norman Wylde could comfort you very easily in your grief,” was the unfeeling reply that sent Pansy from the room in bitter tears.
Juliette was the trial of Pansy’s daily life. She had tried all in vain to overcome the girl’s jealous dislike of her, but it seemed a hopeless task, and she longed for the time to come when she would marry and leave her in peace.
“I believe she would murder me if she thought she could do so without being discovered,” she thought sometimes fearfully.