“I would never have believed it, if I had not seen it with my own eyes,” muttered Leonard, harshly; as if it were possible for him to have witnessed the scene with any other eyes than his own.
In the meantime, the two unconscious culprits had seated themselves upon the rustic seat under the drooping branches of the magnolia-tree, with the pale silvery moon just creeping forth from behind a light fleecy cloud, gazing down upon the pair with calm, smiling eyes—that same old moon that has played so many tricks in its time upon lovers, and has misled more than one jealous, suspicious swain such as I am sorry to say—but truth compels me to admit it—that Leonard Yorke has proven himself to be.
That same tricky moonlight, playing hide-and-seek among the green leaves of the drooping magnolia boughs, showed Violet very pale and still at Will Venners’ side. His handsome face was bent over her own, and he was speaking in a low, earnest voice.
Not one word that he uttered could reach Leonard’s ears, and therefore he naturally imagined that Venners was making love of the fiercest description to his not unwilling listener. But in reality this is just what Will was saying:
“I have ventured here to-night, Miss Arleigh, though it was quite a time before I could make up my mind to come, for I know that for some reason Yorke does not like me, and only invited me here from common civility; but I felt that I must make one more effort to see Jessie Glyndon before I go. I have decided to go out to Texas, you see. There is no use in my remaining here, and—and I love her so, Violet, I can not bear to stay here, and in time see her wedded to another—not that I know of any other that she cares for just now. Do—do you, Violet?” with a wistful glance into Violet’s face, quite as though he were anxious for her to say yes. Yet, in truth, he was half wild with consternation lest she should corroborate his secret fears.
Violet shook her head, with a slight smile. She felt sorry for Will from the very bottom of her warm, womanly, sympathetic heart.
“No; I am sure there is no one else, Will,” she returned. “And, indeed, I—I don’t see how Jessie can help caring for you. I mean”—stopping short, with a vivid blush overspreading her pale face as she realized what she had said—“I mean that I think that she does care.”
“Bah! she has a strange way of showing it, then!” retorted Will, bitterly.
A sudden impulse, a sweet, gentle impulse, came into Violet’s heart to try and help these two who seemed playing at cross-purposes, all that might lie in her power. Not to interfere—Violet had a horror of all interference or meddling in such cases; to her they seemed sacred as private—but perhaps she might be able to advise and counsel a little in a time like this.
“Will”—her eyes shone like diamonds—“suppose you let me go into the house now, this very moment, and ask Jessie to come out here to see you? It would be so much nicer and more romantic out here in the moonlight than to sit in state in the big, grand drawing-room, with Aunt Constance playing propriety, and Hilda watching you with quizzical eyes. I know Jessie would not like that, and she would like the moonlight and the tête-à-tête with you. What woman could help it?” with unconscious flattery. “Shall I go and ask Jessie to come out here, Will? Remember you are going away, and it will be good-bye.”