“‘I have no message to send him; why should I wish to see him? Achilles must occupy his lofty tent and let Greece bleed at every vein. When Patroclus is dead, then he may condescend to take the field!’
“As she uttered those words she was pacing the floor rapidly, back and forth while a strange fire flashed from her pretty eyes. She moved like a queen, and I saw the signs of intense passion disturbing her bosom. The truth is, she was hard pressed for courage to keep from exposing her love for Harry.
“‘Give me that rose you have on your throat,’ I said, ‘and let me tell Harry you sent it to him.’
“‘No, no! I might offend this proud Greek! Let him enjoy his god-like pride! Why should he be disturbed by others’ woes? Do you remember the first lines of the “Iliad”?
“Achilles’ wrath to Greece, the direful spring
Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess sing.”
I am no goddess, but I mean to write a song, and sing the proud man’s praise until his great deeds done in the heart-crushing business shall resound throughout the land. You had better marry Lottie, Mr. Demar, without delay; she is his sister, you know, and might catch the inspiration, and learn to despise common people.’
“‘Miss Bramlett, for Heaven’s sake don’t talk that way! You know how Lottie loves you—she would go any length to serve you. Harry worships you, and all will go well if you will only give him a little kind message.’
“‘I can only repeat what I have already said. I have no message for Mr. Wallingford.’
“I left her with heavy feelings weighing on my mind. Time rolled on, we all rolled on too—or rather drifted on toward our fate. At the end of six months matters were not improved, but had continued to grow worse. Lottie was as true to me as the needle to the pole; not a wave of misunderstanding ever crossed the calm sea of our happiness; all my spare moments were spent by her side. We were too happy to look into the dim future, but we drank in the sweet pleasure of the present, little dreaming of the great cloud of woe that was gathering over our heads, soon to burst on us with all its fury. Shortly after the misunderstanding between Harry and Viola he had fallen ill, and for six weeks his life seemed to be ebbing away slowly; but, thanks to Doctor Dodson’s skill and Lottie’s nursing, the vital spark was kept in the body until nature came to the rescue. His illness caused him to postpone his trip to California at least until fall, and we were encouraged to hope that we should be able to get him to abandon the trip entirely. I still clung to the idea that he and Viola would not drift apart forever.
“Viola never visited Lottie after the trouble with Harry. I saw her about four weeks after Harry was taken ill. I was not prepared to look for or expect such a change as was visible in her appearance; she presented a perfect picture of despair—her beautiful eyes had a languid, listless look in them that told plainly how she was suffering. Was this the beautiful, gay little girl that I had heard Lottie call the lively little cricket? Was it possible that one could change in that way in so short a time? I could scarcely believe the evidence of my own eyes. When I informed her that Harry was very ill, and that we all thought he was going to die, she started, gazed wildly at me for a moment, then burst into tears.