This aroused Amber’s curiosity, for it seemed as if he must have loved the deceased very much to suffer so keenly over his death.
But no clever hints could elicit anything further about the mysterious dead man.
Judge Camden’s sole anxiety now was over his letters.
He dispatched a servant to the post-office for every mail that arrived, and he invariably groaned with disappointment when he turned over his batch of letters.
Amber watched him with blended curiosity and dread. She could not understand this strange anxiety over the girl he had treated so harshly and cruelly.
She said, on the third day, almost petulantly:
“Grandpapa, why are you so anxious for a letter from Violet? You cannot surely expect her to write to you after the cruel treatment she received from you.”
They were alone in the old man’s bedroom, where he lay very pale and feeble among the pillows, while Amber sat near in an easy-chair, having volunteered to read the morning papers aloud for him.
How bright and beautiful she looked in her warm, crimson morning dress that set off so exquisitely her olive skin, hazel eyes, and wealth of satiny brown braids. You would not have dreamed that such a beautiful body could have harbored such a wicked soul; yet at that moment she was thinking that her grandfather certainly looked very ill this morning, and that the secret anxiety that seemed to be consuming him would soon wear out his feeble life. Oh, how she exulted in the thought that at his death all her deep-laid schemes would be crowned with bright success. Violet was wedded to another, and out of the way, and she was betrothed to Cecil. Soon the old man would be dead, and she would inherit a fortune and could marry her lover whenever she chose.
All these bright thoughts were passing through her mind as she uttered the petulant complaint, and she hoped that the words would silence his strange anxiety over Violet; for why should he worry over the girl’s silence, when he had so doggedly doomed her to the fate of an unloving bride?