Then she realized that Wallace was there, and her heart went forth to him in loving sympathy, for she knew that he had lost the only near friend that he had in the world.
She did not move for a few moments, however, for she felt that his grief was too deep and sacred to be disturbed; but after a little he grew more calm, and then she said, in a low, tremulous tone:
"Wallace, I am so grieved."
He started, and turned his pale face toward her.
"Violet!" he exclaimed, astonished.
"Yes," she said. "I only came home yesterday, and by the merest chance read the news of this to-day. Oh, Wallace, she was a dear, dear woman!"
"She was, indeed," he replied, clasping the hand she extended to him, and feeling inexpressibly comforted by this fair girl"s tribute to his loved one.
He noticed, and was touched also by the fact, that Violet was all in black, and he knew that she had robed herself thus out of grief for his dead.
"I loved her," the young girl said, with touching simplicity. Then she added: "I know I cannot say anything to comfort you, but, believe me, my heart is full of sorrow for her loss, and of sympathy for you."
How lovely she was, standing there beside him, her fair face and sunny hair in such striking contrast with her black dress, and with her azure eyes raised in such heartfelt sympathy to his.
Her hand still lay in his, for both had unconsciously retained their clasp after their first greeting, and he knew by her clinging fingers how sincere her sorrow and sympathy were.
"My darling, I know it; and your presence is inexpressibly comforting to me."
"My darling!"--he had said it without thinking.
During all the long weeks that they had been separated he had called her thus to himself, and now the word had slipped from him unawares, and he would have given worlds to have been able to recall them.
Violet"s white lids fluttered and then drooped consciously, while a vivid flush arose to her brow.
This brought Wallace to his senses. He also colored hotly, and a feeling of dismay took possession of him. There was a dead silence for a moment; then he added, humbly:
"Forgive me; I did not know what I was saying."
He would have released her hand, but her small fingers closed more firmly over his; she shot one dazzling gleam of light up at him from her lovely eyes and whispered, shyly:
"I am glad!"
And he knew that she was all his own--that she loved him even as he loved her.
A great wave of thankfulness, of sacred joy, swept over his soul, only to be followed by a feeling of despair, darker and deeper than any he had yet experienced, for he knew that he should not, must not accept the priceless boon of her love which she had so freely and so artlessly yielded to him.
But there was no time for explanations, for at that moment the door was opened again, and the woman, Mrs. Keen, whom Violet had met when she first came, entered, to make some inquiry of Wallace, and to tell him that the clergyman had arrived.
Presently others, neighbors and acquaintances, began to gather, and then it was time for the service.
Violet never forgot that simple ceremony, for the clergyman, who knew Mrs. Richardson intimately, seemed to glorify the death of the beautiful woman.
"She had simply stepped," he said, "from darkness into light--from toil and care into rest and peace. The vail betwixt her and the Master, whom she had loved, was lifted; her hitherto fettered soul was free, and in the light of an eternal day no earthly sorrow, doubt, or trial could reach her."
Death, after that, never seemed the cruel enemy that it had previously seemed to Violet.
After it was all over, and Wallace had pa.s.sed out to his carriage, Mrs.
Keen came to the young girl and asked her if she would like to follow her friend to the cemetery.
"If I may," Violet replied. "She was not a relative, but I loved her very much."
"Then come with me," the woman said, and, as she led the way out, she explained that there were no relatives save Mr. Richardson, and it seemed too bad that there should be no one but himself to follow his mother to the grave, and that was why she had asked Violet to go with her.
The next moment Violet found herself in the carriage with, and seated opposite to, Wallace.
A feeling of dismay took possession of her, for she knew that the world would criticise her severely for taking such a step.
She had not dreamed that she would have to ride in the same carriage with Wallace, and she wondered if he would understand how it had happened.
The matter could not be helped now, however, and for herself she did not care; her motives had been good and pure; why then need she care for the criticisms of people?
The ride to Spring Grove Cemetery was a long and sad one, for scarcely a word was spoken either going or returning. Wallace seemed absorbed in his own sorrowful reflections, Mrs. Keen preserved a prim and gloomy silence, and Violet was thus left to her own thoughts.
She could not keep from thinking of those few sad yet sweet moments when she had stood alone with Wallace by the casket of his mother, and heard him speak those words which had changed, in one instant, her whole life.
"My darling, your presence is inexpressibly comforting to me!"
She knew that he had not meant to speak thus, that only a sense of his own desolation and her unexpected sympathy, had made him forget himself, break down all barriers, and betray the secret of his love.
It had been an unexpected revelation to her, however; she had not suspected the nature of his feelings toward her, nor of hers toward him, until then; but now she knew that she loved him--that all the world, with every other blessing and luxury at her command, would be worthless to her without him to share it.
When they reached Hughes street again Violet held out her hand to Wallace, saying it was so late she must go directly home.
Then he suddenly came to himself and realized how very tedious the long, silent ride must have been for her.
"Let me send you home in the carriage," he said, eagerly.
"Thank you, no; I will take a car," Violet replied, so decidedly that he did not press the matter further.
It was very late when she reached home, and she found her sister quite anxious over her prolonged absence.
"Where have you been, Violet?" she demanded, somewhat impatiently; "it is not the proper thing at all for you to be out so late alone. Mercy!
and you are all in black, too; I should think you had been at a funeral."
"I have; I have been to Mrs. Richardson"s funeral," Violet replied, hot tears rushing to her eyes.
Mrs. Mencke looked startled.
"Mrs. Richardson!" she repeated. "When did she die?"
"Day before yesterday; and it was all by chance that I saw the notice of her death in a paper. She died very suddenly of heart disease."
"I wish I had known it, I would have gone with you," said Mrs. Mencke, looking disturbed.