She slipped the letter into her pocket, and removing her street-dress, donned a pretty black lawn, with a jet necklace and bracelets. Then she stepped out upon the balcony and stood gazing around her upon the fair scene stretched out before her eyes. Off in the distance a gleam of silver, where the pretty river wound in and out amid green hills and smiling dales; overhead, a blue sky with a few fleecy white clouds sailing over its azure bosom; below, a smooth, green lawn stretching down to the river’s edge, and dotted with gorgeous flower-beds.
A lovely place was Yorke Towers. No wonder that Helen Yorke had clung to it and fought for it, and would almost lay her life down in its defense.
And then Violet’s eyes wandered over to the eastern portion of the huge old building, to the room where that awful tragedy had taken place so many years before, where the mysterious letter had told Violet to search for the documents referred to.
What papers were they, and why must she search for them? In vain did Violet turn the question over in her mind; she could find no answer to it. But a strange feeling had taken possession of her heart, a feeling for which she could not account, but which led her to feel that the letter, no matter from whom it had come, spoke the truth, and was of real importance to her.
“I will say nothing to any one,” she decided at length; “but I will watch my opportunity to visit the east chamber; and once there, I will search it thoroughly. But I really do not know what I expect to find, and it does not seem proper to take such liberties with Mrs. Yorke’s house.”
She felt greatly distressed and troubled over this matter; but at last she decided to dismiss the subject from her mind.
She descended the narrow staircase which led from the balcony out into the grounds, and was soon wandering through a green and shady arcade with hedges of roses on either side and the air laden with fragrance.
All at once the sound of suppressed sobbing fell upon her ears, followed by an outburst of weeping speedily controlled.
Violet came to a halt, uncertain whether to advance or retreat; and then she saw, crouching at the foot of a large tree, a white-robed figure with bowed head—a girl, weeping bitterly. A second glance, and Violet saw that it was Jessie Glyndon. It did not seem possible that the proud, self-possessed Miss Glyndon could be huddled up in that crumpled heap at the foot of the tree, weeping and sobbing as though her heart would break. And as Violet turned to leave the spot, her light footsteps unheard upon the soft grass, she caught the sound of a name which Miss Glyndon breathed forth in a tone of heart-break and despair. That name was “Will!”
Violet felt a swift sensation of surprise. Why, who would ever have thought that Jessie Glyndon cared enough for Will Venners to cry about him? So thought Violet to herself. Yet, after all, it might not be Will Venners, for there are hundreds of other Wills in the world.