Volume II Part 5 (1/2)
And then, after a pause, she asked herself, fretfully:
”What will people say if my own daughter is not at my wedding?”
The idea of possible slander stung her sharply. She got up and walked up and down the room, inwardly complaining against Providence for using her so badly. To have such a rebellious daughter! It was sharper than a serpent's tooth.
The time had not been allowed to go by without some endeavour being made to bring Violet to a better state of feeling. That was the tone taken about her by Mrs. Tempest and the Vicar's wife in their conferences. The headstrong misguided girl was to be brought to a better state of mind. Mrs. Scobel tackled her, bringing all her diplomacy to bear, but without avail. Vixen was rock. Then Mr. Scobel undertook the duty, and, with all the authority of his holy office, called upon Violet to put aside her unchristian prejudices, and behave as a meek and dutiful daughter.
”Is it unchristian to hate the man who has usurped my father's place?”
Violet asked curtly.
”It is unchristian to hate anyone. And you have no right to call Captain Winstanley a usurper. You have no reason to take your mother's marriage so much to heart. There is nothing sinful, or even radically objectionable in a second marriage; though I admit that, to my mind, a woman is worthier in remaining faithful to her first love; like Anna the prophetess, who had been a widow fourscore-and-four years. Who shall say that her exceptional gift of prophecy may not have been a reward for the purity and fidelity of her life?”
Mr. Scobel's arguments were of no more effect than his wife's persuasion. His heart was secretly on Violet's side. He had loved the Squire, and he thought this marriage of Mrs. Tempest's a foolish, if not a shameful thing. There was no heartiness in the feeling with which he supervised the decoration of his pretty t.i.ttle church for the wedding.
”If she were only awake,” thought Mrs. Tempest, ”I would make a last appeal to her feelings, late as it is. Her heart cannot be stone.”
She took her candle, and went through the dark silent house to Violet's room, and knocked gently.
”Come in,” said the girl's clear voice with a wakeful sound.
”Ah!” thought Mrs. Tempest triumphantly, ”obstinate as she is, she knows she is doing wrong. Conscience won't let her sleep.”
Vixen was standing at her window, leaning with folded arms upon the broad wooden ledge, looking out at the dim garden, over which the pale stars were s.h.i.+ning. There was a moon, but it was hidden by drifting clouds.
”Not in bed, Violet?” said her mother sweetly.
”No, mamma.”
”What have you been doing all these hours?”
”I don't know--thinking,”
”And you never came to wish me good-night.”
”I did not think you would want me. I thought you would be busy packing--for your honeymoon.”
”That was not kind, Violet. You must have known that I should have many painful thoughts to-night.”
”I did not know it. And if it is so I can only say it is a pity the painful thoughts did not come a little sooner.”
”Violet, you are as hard as iron, as cold as ice!” cried Mrs. Tempest, with pa.s.sionate fretfulness.
”No, I am not, mamma; I can love very warmly, where I love deeply. I have given this night to thoughts of my dead father, whose place is to be usurped in this house from to-morrow.”
”I never knew anyone so obstinately unkind. I could not have believe it possible in my own daughter. I thought you had a good heart, Violet; and yet you do not mind making me intensely wretched on my wedding-day.”
”Why should you be wretched, mamma, because I prefer not to be present at your wedding? If I were there, I should be like the bad fairy at the princess's christening. I should look at everything with a malevolent eye.”
Mrs. Tempest flung herself into a chair and burst into tears.