CHAPTER XXXIX.
“I HAD HOPED—BUT ALL IS OVER NOW!”
A week passed, very quietly and wearily to our sweet Violet in her seclusion at the home of Mrs. Lavarre.
To her restless heart, tortured by suspense and anxiety, the time seemed endless, but the advice of her two new friends was still to wait a while and take no steps to break up the mystery that surrounded her flight.
“If I might only write to Cecil,” she sighed, and the thought of his trouble weighed like lead upon her spirits.
She knew not what story her enemies had invented to impose upon his credulity. Perhaps Amber had declared that she was false and heartless, and had married Harold Castello knowingly, and of her own free choice.
“She will win his heart from me, and then I shall die of despair,” she moaned; but when she gazed on her opal ring she saw the beautiful jewel glowing with dazzling hues of rainbow light, and knew that Cecil’s heart was still her own, no matter what cruel story of treachery and desertion they had poured into his ears.
“He loves me still, my darling!” she murmured, and took comfort in the thought, forgetting that she was bound by irrevocable ties to another, and that Cecil’s love could only be sorrow.
But when she pleaded so piteously that she ought to write to Cecil, Lena Lavarre gently reminded her of the hideous truth that she was Harold Castello’s wife.
“To write to your lost lover would only augment his misery,” she said. “Besides, your enemies will be watching for that very clew, and they would pounce upon you like merciless hawks. Be patient, dear, and wait a little while before you make a single move in this strange game you are playing with destiny. It seems to me that Heaven itself will interfere to save you from Harold Castello.”
“Heaven did not interfere to save you, Lena,” Violet answered, bitterly.