On the whole, she was relieved. A sick friend did not matter. She was rather glad to have him out of the way so that she might visit oftener at Bonnycastle without fear of detection.
She was eager to force Cecil into a declaration, although she could not yet see how she was going to bring the old judge to consent to the marriage. She did not wish to run the risk of offending him and losing her chance of inheriting his money, but she was determined to have Cecil, and trusted in her usual good luck to bring matters about as she desired.
Her thoughts followed Cecil longingly on his way back to Bonnycastle, and she smiled as she thought how Mrs. Grant would rejoice at the news that the debt on Bonnycastle was paid, and she would not be ousted from the home she loved so dearly.
“Ah,” thought Amber, in triumph, “she will be very grateful to me, and of course she will be forever sounding my praises in Cecil’s ears. Surely then his heart will turn to me!”
She forgot the perversity of love that has puzzled all the wise ones of the earth—forgot that love exists like jealousy—
“We are not jealous for a cause
But jealous for we are jealous!”
Cecil Grant might marry Amber through gratitude for her seeming kindness, but the feeling would be far different from the passion he felt for his only love, sweet Violet—the passion that lived in his heart despite her desertion:
“Every feeling hath been shaken,
Pride, which not a world could bow,