Meanwhile poor Pansy, half crazed with shame and grief, was sobbing forlornly up in her little chamber under the eaves.
She believed that Norman Wylde had been amusing himself with her, and the thought was agony to her fond, loving heart.
“I loved him so! Oh, I loved him so! And it was cruel, cruel for him to deceive me,” she moaned bitterly, while the shame of it all weighed heavily on her sensitive spirit.
Suddenly the hired girl, a bright mulatto, put her head into the room, and started at seeing Pansy lying on the floor in tears.
“Lor’, Miss Pansy, what’s de matter? You sick?” she exclaimed.
“No—yes. What do you want, Sue?” fretfully.
“Mr. Wylde tole me to tole you to come downsta’rs. He wants to tell you sumfin.”
Pansy’s blue eyes flashed through their tears.
“Tell him I won’t come, that I don’t want to see him!” she replied spiritedly.
Norman Wylde sighed when he received the message, and turned away without a word. Going to his room, he dashed off a hasty letter to Pansy, explaining everything, and begged her consent to become his wife. Then he went down, and, finding Sue alone in the kitchen, gave her the letter to take to Pansy, liberally rewarding her for the service.
Just outside Pansy’s door she came upon Juliette Ives, who said carelessly:
“Give me that letter. I’ll hand it to Pansy.”
She held up her hand, with a silver piece shining in its palm. Sue snapped at the bait, and immediately delivered up the precious letter, which Miss Ives hid in her pocket, then ran away to her own room.
Her pale-blue eyes sparkled with fury as she read the tender love letter Norman Wylde had written to Pansy.
“She shall never be his wife if I can prevent it!” she vowed bitterly.
The impatient lover waited in vain for a reply to his letter, for Pansy did not come down that evening, and when he arose, very early the next morning, he learned, to his dismay, that Farmer Robbins had taken his niece away on the midnight train.
He went impatiently to Mrs. Robbins, and she told him, in her cool, straightforward way, that Mr. Robbins had taken Pansy away because he did not approve of her flirting with young men.
“But, my dear madam, my intentions were strictly honorable. I wished to marry Pansy,” he expostulated.
“You are engaged to Miss Ives, ain’t you?” she returned curtly.
“I was, but I am no longer. I broke off with her that I might ask Pansy Laurens to marry me.”
He seemed so manly and straightforward that Mrs. Robbins must have been forced to believe in his sincerity had not her mind been poisoned beforehand by the slanders of Mrs. Ives. But the poison had done its work, and she looked on him as a liar and a libertine. So she answered curtly again:
“Rich young men like you, Mr. Wylde, don’t marry poor working geerls like little Pansy Laurens. I’ve heerd all about your character from Mrs. Ives, sir, and I know you didn’t mean any good to Pansy, so her uncle up and took her away out o’ harm’s reach.”
His black eyes flashed with anger.
“I shall follow her!” he exclaimed hotly, and rushed out on the lawn, where Mrs. Ives was leisurely promenading under the trees.
She cowered a little when she saw his handsome face so pale with anger, and his burning dark eyes fixed on her with such resentful passion.
Controlling his fierce anger by a strong effort of will, he advanced toward her, and said, with forced calmness:
“I am curious to know, Mrs. Ives, what kind of character you have given me to Mrs. Robbins, since it had the effect of incensing her so bitterly against me?”
She tossed up her head defiantly, and replied:
“It was your flirting with her niece that angered Mrs. Robbins.”
His brow darkened, and he waved his hand, as if thrusting aside her petty subterfuge.
“Mrs. Robbins told me that she had had my character from you.”
“Oh, pshaw! What was the foolish creature thinking of?” cried the lady airily. “She asked me about you, and I merely said that you were fickle-minded—that was all. You will grant that I had room to say that much, after your treatment of my daughter?”
He recoiled from the envenomed thrust, and turned away, with a cold bow. He felt sure that she had said much more, but she was not a man—he could not force her to answer for the slanders she had uttered against him.
As he left her side, Juliette approached eagerly, and inquired what Norman had said. Mrs. Ives repeated it, and added, with a chuckle of triumph:
“He did not believe me, but he dared not say so.”
“Have you written to the Wyldes, mamma?”
“Yes; and colored the whole affair as highly as possible.”
“You do not believe they will allow him to marry that upstart girl?”
“No, indeed; for I have given her a fine character, you may be sure,” replied the heartless woman complacently.
“I should die of spite if he married her,” cried Juliette jealously.
“He will not marry her, my dear, for I am determined to thwart her, if possible. I have poisoned the minds of all her relations against him, and they will be sure to keep him at a distance. Besides, you said yourself that she was angry with him, and declared she would never speak to him again.”
“Yes; but if he had a chance to explain——”
“They will have no chance to explain. Their relations will keep them apart,” interrupted her mother firmly.