“Ah, I see you are looking brighter already,” laughed Amber. “Well, now I am about to begin. Once upon a time——”
“Yes,” Violet murmured, encouragingly, for her cousin had suddenly paused thoughtfully.
“Well, once upon a time,” resumed Amber, “a girl as young and beautiful as you wore that opal ring. Her name was Linda—Linda Grant—and she was young and gay and romantic, and as she was so charming, she had hosts of lovers; but, strange to say, none of them could win her favor. They said her mind was filled with visions of an ideal lover, grander and handsomer than any man she knew, and that for him she kept her heart.”
“Just as I kept mine for Cecil,” murmured Violet, tenderly.
“Yes,” Amber answered, with a frown on her averted face. Then she continued:
“Suddenly this beautiful Linda Grant, the boast of this whole country, disappeared as strangely as if the earth had opened and swallowed her.”
“Oh!” breathed Violet, in sorrow and dismay.
“It was on a Hallow Eve,” went on Amber. “The Grants were rich in those days, and there had been a grand party at Bonnycastle that night. They said afterward that Linda Grant that night was gayest of the gay and fairest of the fair. She wore pink brocaded silk in a court-train, with white lace draperies looped with wild roses, little high-heeled pink slippers, and pearl ornaments. On her finger glowed this opal ring, a mysterious gift from some unknown lover who had sent it with a perfumed note that declared himself to be the Prince Charming for whom Linda was waiting. The mysterious unknown begged her to wear the opal as their betrothal ring, until he came to claim her, which should be very soon. This romantic proceeding delighted the young girl, and she wore the opal ring for the first time at the Hallow Eve party. At midnight she left her friends with a light excuse, promising to return in a few minutes, and—was never seen again!”
“Her mysterious lover had claimed her,” breathed Violet, in a voice of awe.
“So it was believed for a long time, when all search for her had proved futile, but years passed away before it was learned that death itself had claimed the romantic little beauty that night.”