Volume II Part 5 (2/2)
The storm of grief which had been brooding over her troubled mind all day, broke suddenly in a tempest of weeping. She could have given no reason for her distress; but all at once, on the eve of that day which was to give a new colour to her life, panic seized her, and she trembled at the step she was about to take.
”You are very cruel to me, Violet,” she sobbed. ”I am a most miserable woman.”
Violet knelt beside her and gently took her hand, moved to pity by wretchedness so abject.
”Dear mamma, why miserable?” she asked. ”This thing which you are doing is your own choice. Or, if it is not--if you have yielded weakly to over-persuasion--it is not too late to draw back. No, dear mother, even now it is not too late. Indeed, it is not. Let us run away as soon as it is light, you and I, and go off to Spain, or Italy, anywhere, leaving a letter for Captain Winstanley, to say you have changed your mind. He could not do anything to us. You have a right to draw back, even at the last.”
”Don't talk nonsense, Violet,” cried Mrs. Tempest peevishly. ”Who said I had changed my mind? I am as devoted to Conrad as he is to me. I should be a heartless wretch if I could throw him over at the last moment. But this has been a most agitating day. Your unkindness is breaking my heart.”
”Indeed, mamma, I have no wish to be unkind--not to you. But my presence at your wedding would be a lie. It would seem to give my approval to an act I hate. I cannot bring myself to do that.”
”And you will disgrace me by your absence? You do not care what people may say of me.”
”n.o.body will care about my absence. You will be the queen of the day.”
”Everybody will care--everybody will talk. I know how malicious people are, even one's most intimate friends. They will say my own daughter turned her back upon me on my wedding-day.”
”They can hardly say that, when I shall be here in your house!”
Mrs. Tempest went on weeping. She had reduced herself to a condition in which it was much easier to cry than to leave off crying. The fountain of her tears seemed inexhaustible.
”A pretty object I shall look to-morrow!” she murmured plaintively, and this was all she said for some time.
Violet walked up and down the room, sorely distressed, sorely perplexed. To see her mother's grief, and to be able to give comfort, and to refuse. That must be undutiful, undaughterly, rebellious. But had not her mother forfeited all right to her obedience? Were not their hearts and lives completely sundered by this marriage of to-morrow? To Violet's stronger nature it seemed as if she were the mother--offended, outraged by a child's folly and weakness. There sat the child, weeping piteously, yearning to be forgiven. It was a complete reversal of their positions.
Her heart was touched by the spectacle of her mother's weakness, by the mute appeal of those tears.
”What does it matter to me, after all, whether I am absent or present?”
she argued at last. ”I cannot prevent this man coming to take possession of my father's house. I cannot hinder the outrage to my father's memory. Mamma has been very kind to me--and I have no one else in the world to love.”
She took a few more turns, and then stopped by her mother's chair.
”Will it really make you happier, mamma, if I am at your wedding?”
”It will make me quite happy.”
”Very well then; it shall be as you please. But, remember, I shall look like the wicked fairy. I can't help that.”
”You will look lovely. Theodore has sent you home the most exquisite dress. Come to my room and try it on,” said Mrs. Tempest, drying her tears, and as quickly comforted as a child who has obtained its desire by means of copious weeping.
”No, dear mamma; not to-night, I'm too tired,” sighed Violet.
”Never mind, dear. Theodore always fits you to perfection. Go to bed at once, love. The dress will be a pleasant surprise for you in the morning. Good-night, pet. You have made me so happy.”
”I am glad of that, mamma.”
”I wish you were going to Scotland with us.” (Vixen shuddered.) ”I'm afraid you'll be dreadfully dull here.”
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