“Judge Camden, I——”
But the tormenting old wretch added, teasingly:
“You need not encourage his attentions, madame, for I should refuse my consent, just as I did in Violet’s case.”
The insulted old lady hurried from the room, weeping indignant tears, and Judge Camden laughed maliciously at the way in which he had routed Cecil’s friend.
But it made him unreasonably angry to know how every one admired the manly young fellow, who was so noble and true, and who was struggling against such overwhelming odds in the battle of life. The judge was not really a wicked man, and he would have pitied and admired any other such hero, and have offered him a helping hand; but he hated Cecil for his mother’s sake, and was pitiless. Only that day the young man had argued and gained a case in court before him, and the judge would have admired his masterly speech had it been any one else; but for Cecil he had only anger, and perhaps a spice of envy; for the old man well knew that any girl, rich or poor, in the whole county, would have been glad to marry the handsome and noble though impoverished heir of Bonnycastle.
While he sat fuming over his unpleasant thoughts, the clang of the door-bell penetrated to the library where he sat, and presently a servant entered with a card.
“Mr. Grant begs the favor of a short interview,” he said.
The judge viewed the card with round-eyed wonder and astonishment.
“Well, well, well! What business can the young jackanapes have with me? But show him in,” he ejaculated, and the next moment Cecil Grant bowed himself over the threshold, and into the presence of his surprised and wondering enemy.
From her window above Amber had watched Cecil approach, and her heart beat tumultuously as she drew back into the shadows, picturing to herself the surprise and chagrin of the old judge at learning the object of the young man’s call.