CHAPTER IV.
AMBER’S TRIUMPH.
“Amber, why are you watching over me? My head aches and my eyes are dim. Have I been ill?”
Violet’s voice was very weak and low, and her eyes tried to pierce the dim light of the shaded night-lamp, to watch Amber at the open window in the flood of silvery moonlight.
A week had passed since Judge Camden’s return from Chicago, and ever since the next day Violet had been dangerously ill. Indeed, this was her first conscious hour.
“Have I been ill?” she faltered, weakly, and Amber answered, in a cold voice:
“Yes, so ill for a week that we despaired of your life; but I suppose you will get well now, Violet.”
“Are you sorry, Amber?” for something in the cold voice jarred on her sensitive heart.
“What a silly idea!” and Amber laughed harshly, while Violet’s weak, white hand went up to her brow in a bewildered way.
“Ah, Amber, everything comes back to me!” she sighed, wearily. “Grandpapa came home and was angry with Cecil for loving me. He told my darling we must part forever, that he had chosen a rich man to be my husband. But I rebelled against his cruelty. I vowed I would have no one but my dark-eyed lover, handsome Cecil Grant. Grandpapa was in a towering rage. His eyes blazed with anger; he flew at me, and—and——”
She paused, with a terrible shudder, and Amber coolly finished the sentence.