No. 91

  _SWEET VIOLET_

  BY
  MRS.
  ALEX.
  McVEIGH
  MILLER.

  [Illustration: Photo by
  Pach Bros.
  New York.

  EAGLE LIBRARY]

  STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS NEW YORK




_Copyright Fiction by the Best Authors_

NEW EAGLE SERIES

  A Big New Book Issued Weekly in this Line.
  An Unequaled Collection of Modern Romances.


The books in this line comprise an unrivaled collection of copyrighted
novels by authors who have won fame wherever the English language is
spoken. Foremost among these is Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, whose works
are contained in this line exclusively. Every book in the New Eagle
Series is of generous length, of attractive appearance, and of
undoubted merit. No better literature can be had at any price. Beware
of imitations of the S. & S. novels, which are sold cheap because
their publishers were put to no expense in the matter of purchasing
manuscripts and making plates.


ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

    TO THE PUBLIC:--These books are sold by news dealers
    everywhere. If your dealer does not keep them, and will
    not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in
    which case four cents must be added to the price per
    copy to cover postage.

=====================================================================
  =Quo Vadis= (New Illustrated Edition)       =By Henryk Sienkiewicz=
    1--Queen Bess                             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    2--Ruby’s Reward                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
    7--Two Keys                               By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   12--Edrie’s Legacy                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   44--That Dowdy                             By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   55--Thrice Wedded                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   66--Witch Hazel                            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   77--Tina                                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   88--Virgie’s Inheritance                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
   99--Audrey’s Recompense                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  111--Faithful Shirley                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  122--Grazia’s Mistake                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  133--Max                                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  144--Dorothy’s Jewels                       By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  155--Nameless Dell                          By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  166--The Masked Bridal                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  177--A True Aristocrat                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  188--Dorothy Arnold’s Escape                By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  199--Geoffrey’s Victory                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  210--Wild Oats                              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  219--Lost, A Pearle                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  222--The Lily of Mordaunt                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  233--Nora                                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  244--A Hoiden’s Conquest                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  255--The Little Marplot                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  266--The Welfleet Mystery                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  277--Brownie’s Triumph                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  282--The Forsaken Bride                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  288--Sibyl’s Influence                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring              By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  299--Little Miss Whirlwind                  By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  311--Wedded by Fate                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  339--His Heart’s Queen                      By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  351--The Churchyard Betrothal               By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  362--Stella Rosevelt                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  372--A Girl in a Thousand                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  373--A Thorn Among Roses                    By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
        Sequel to “A Girl in a Thousand”
  382--Mona                                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  391--Marguerite’s Heritage                  By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  399--Betsey’s Transformation                By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  407--Esther, the Fright                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  415--Trixy                                  By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  419--The Other Woman                             By Charles Garvice
  433--Winifred’s Sacrifice                   By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  440--Edna’s Secret Marriage                      By Charles Garvice
  451--Helen’s Victory                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  458--When Love Meets Love                        By Charles Garvice
  476--Earle Wayne’s Nobility                 By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  511--The Golden Key                         By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  512--A Heritage of Love                     By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
        Sequel to “The Golden Key”
  519--The Magic Cameo                        By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  520--The Heatherford Fortune                By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
        Sequel to “The Magic Cameo”
  531--Better Than Life                            By Charles Garvice
  537--A Life’s Mistake                            By Charles Garvice
  542--Once in a Life                              By Charles Garvice
  548--’Twas Love’s Fault                          By Charles Garvice
  553--Queen Kate                                  By Charles Garvice
  554--Step by Step                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  555--Put to the Test                             By Ida Reade Allen
  556--With Love’s Aid                               By Wenona Gilman
  557--In Cupid’s Chains                           By Charles Garvice
  558--A Plunge Into the Unknown                     By Richard Marsh
  559--The Love That Was Cursed                  By Geraldine Fleming
  560--The Thorns of Regret              By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  561--The Outcast of the Family                   By Charles Garvice
  562--A Forced Promise                            By Ida Reade Allen
  563--The Old Homestead                           By Denman Thompson
  564--Love’s First Kiss                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  565--Just a Girl                                 By Charles Garvice
  566--In Love’s Springtime                      By Laura Jean Libbey
  567--Trixie’s Honor                            By Geraldine Fleming
  568--Hearts and Dollars                          By Ida Reade Allen
  569--By Devious Ways                             By Charles Garvice
  570--Her Heart’s Unbidden Guest        By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  571--Two Wild Girls                  By Mrs. Charlotte May Kingsley
  572--Amid Scarlet Roses                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  573--Heart for Heart                             By Charles Garvice
  574--The Fugitive Bride                            By Mary E. Bryan
  575--A Blue Grass Heroine                        By Ida Reade Allen
  576--The Yellow Face                               By Fred M. White
  577--The Story of a Passion                      By Charles Garvice
  579--The Curse of Beauty                       By Geraldine Fleming
  580--The Great Awakening                   By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  581--A Modern Juliet                             By Charles Garvice
  582--Virgie Talcott’s Mission                    By Lucy M. Russell
  583--His Greatest Sacrifice; or, Manch             By Mary E. Bryan
  584--Mabel’s Fate                      By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  585--The Ape and the Diamond                       By Richard Marsh
  586--Nell, of Shorne Mills                       By Charles Garvice
  587--Katherine’s Two Suitors                   By Geraldine Fleming
  588--The Crime of Love                            By Barbara Howard
  589--His Father’s Crime                    By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  590--What Was She to Him?              By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  591--A Heritage of Hate                          By Charles Garvice
  592--Ida Chaloner’s Heart                   By Lucy Randall Comfort
  593--Love Will Find the Way                        By Wenona Gilman
  594--A Case of Identity                            By Richard Marsh
  595--The Shadow of Her Life                      By Charles Garvice
  596--Slighted Love                     By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  597--Her Fatal Gift                            By Geraldine Fleming
  598--His Wife’s Friend                             By Mary E. Bryan
  599--At Love’s Cost                              By Charles Garvice
  600--St. Elmo                                   By Augusta J. Evans
  601--The Fate of the Plotter                         By Louis Tracy
  602--Married in Error                  By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  603--Love and Jealousy                      By Lucy Randall Comfort
  604--Only a Working Girl                       By Geraldine Fleming
  605--Love, the Tyrant                            By Charles Garvice
  606--Mabel’s Sacrifice                      By Charlotte M. Stanley
  608--Love is Love Forevermore          By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  609--John Elliott’s Flirtation                  By Lucy May Russell
  610--With All Her Heart                          By Charles Garvice
  611--Is Love Worth While?                      By Geraldine Fleming
  612--Her Husband’s Other Wife                By Emma Garrison Jones
  613--Philip Bennion’s Death                        By Richard Marsh
  614--Little Phillis’ Lover             By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  615--Maida                                       By Charles Garvice
  617--As a Man Lives                        By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  618--The Tide of Fate                              By Wenona Gilman
  619--The Cardinal Moth                             By Fred M. White
  620--Marcia Drayton                              By Charles Garvice
  621--Lynette’s Wedding                 By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  622--His Madcap Sweetheart                   By Emma Garrison Jones
  623--Love at the Loom                          By Geraldine Fleming
  624--A Bachelor Girl                            By Lucy May Russell
  625--Kyra’s Fate                                 By Charles Garvice
  626--The Joss                                      By Richard Marsh
  627--My Little Love                    By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  628--A Daughter of the Marionis            By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  629--The Lady of Beaufort Park                     By Wenona Gilman
  630--The Verdict of the Heart                    By Charles Garvice
  631--A Love Concealed                        By Emma Garrison Jones
  633--The Strange Disappearance of Lady Delia         By Louis Tracy
  634--Love’s Golden Spell                       By Geraldine Fleming
  635--A Coronet of Shame                          By Charles Garvice
  636--Sinned Against                                By Mary E. Bryan
  637--If It Were True!                              By Wenona Gilman
  638--A Golden Barrier                  By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  639--A Hateful Bondage                            By Barbara Howard
  640--A Girl of Spirit                            By Charles Garvice
  641--Master of Men                         By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  642--A Fair Enchantress                          By Ida Reade Allen
  643--The Power of Love                         By Geraldine Fleming
  644--No Time for Penitence                         By Wenona Gilman
  645--A Jest of Fate                              By Charles Garvice
  646--Her Sister’s Secret               By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  647--Bitterly Atoned                       By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  648--Gertrude Elliott’s Crucible            By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  649--The Corner House                              By Fred M. White
  650--Diana’s Destiny                             By Charles Garvice
  651--Love’s Clouded Dawn                           By Wenona Gilman
  652--Little Vixen                      By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  653--Her Heart’s Challenge                        By Barbara Howard
  654--Vivian’s Love Story                   By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  655--Linked by Fate                              By Charles Garvice
  656--Hearts of Stone                           By Geraldine Fleming
  657--In the Service of Love                        By Richard Marsh
  658--Love’s Devious Course             By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  659--Told in the Twilight                        By Ida Reade Allen
  660--The Mills of the Gods                         By Wenona Gilman
  661--The Man of the Hour                      By Sir William Magnay
  662--A Little Barbarian                       By Charlotte Kingsley
  663--Creatures of Destiny                        By Charles Garvice
  664--A Southern Princess                     By Emma Garrison Jones
  666--A Fateful Promise                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  667--The Goddess--A Demon                          By Richard Marsh
  668--From Tears to Smiles                        By Ida Reade Allen
  670--Better Than Riches                            By Wenona Gilman
  671--When Love Is Young                          By Charles Garvice
  672--Craven Fortune                                By Fred M. White
  673--Her Life’s Burden                 By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  674--The Heart of Hetta                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  675--The Breath of Slander                       By Ida Reade Allen
  676--My Lady Beth                           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  677--The Wooing of Esther Gray                       By Louis Tracy
  678--The Shadow Between Them            By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  679--Gold in the Gutter                          By Charles Garvice
  680--Master of Her Fate                        By Geraldine Fleming
  681--In Full Cry                                   By Richard Marsh
  682--My Pretty Maid                     By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  683--An Unhappy Bargain                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  684--Her Enduring Love                           By Ida Reade Allen
  685--India’s Punishment                        By Laura Jean Libbey
  686--The Castle of the Shadows             By Mrs. C. N. Williamson
  687--My Own Sweetheart                             By Wenona Gilman
  688--Only a Kiss                        By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  689--Lola Dunbar’s Crime                          By Barbara Howard
  690--Ruth, the Outcast                        By Mrs. Mary E. Bryan
  691--Her Dearest Love                          By Geraldine Fleming
  692--The Man of Millions                         By Ida Reade Allen
  693--For Another’s Fault                    By Charlotte M. Stanley
  694--The Belle of Saratoga                  By Lucy Randall Comfort
  695--The Mystery of the Unicorn               By Sir William Magnay
  696--The Bride’s Opals                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  697--One of Life’s Roses                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  698--The Battle of Hearts                      By Geraldine Fleming
  700--In Wolf’s Clothing                          By Charles Garvice
  701--A Lost Sweetheart                           By Ida Reade Allen
  702--The Stronger Passion                By Mrs. Lillian R. Drayton
  703--Mr. Marx’s Secret                     By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  704--Had She Loved Him Less!                   By Laura Jean Libbey
  705--The Adventure of Princess Sylvia      By Mrs. C. N. Williamson
  706--In Love’s Paradise                     By Charlotte M. Stanley
  707--At Another’s Bidding                        By Ida Reade Allen
  708--Sold for Gold                             By Geraldine Fleming
  710--Ridgeway of Montana                   By William MacLeod Raine
  711--Taken by Storm                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  712--Love and a Lie                              By Charles Garvice
  713--Barriers of Stone                             By Wenona Gilman
  714--Ethel’s Secret                         By Charlotte M. Stanley
  715--Amber, the Adopted                       By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  716--No Man’s Wife                               By Ida Reade Allen
  717--Wild and Willful                       By Lucy Randall Comfort
  718--When We Two Parted                 By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  719--Love’s Earnest Prayer                     By Geraldine Fleming
  720--The Price of a Kiss                       By Laura Jean Libbey
  721--A Girl from the South                       By Charles Garvice
  722--A Freak of Fate                         By Emma Garrison Jones
  723--A Golden Sorrow                        By Charlotte M. Stanley
  724--Norna’s Black Fortune                       By Ida Reade Allen
  725--The Thoroughbred                              By Edith MacVane
  726--Diana’s Peril                                  By Dorothy Hall
  727--His Willing Slave                        By Lillian R. Drayton
  728--Her Share of Sorrow                           By Wenona Gilman
  729--Loved at Last                             By Geraldine Fleming
  730--John Hungerford’s Redemption           By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
  731--His Two Loves                               By Ida Reade Allen
  732--Eric Braddon’s Love               By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  733--Garrison’s Finish                         By W. B. M. Ferguson
  734--Sylvia, the Forsaken                   By Charlotte M. Stanley
  735--Married for Money                      By Lucy Randall Comfort
  736--Married in Haste                              By Wenona Gilman
  737--At Her Father’s Bidding                   By Geraldine Fleming
  738--The Power of Gold                           By Ida Reade Allen
  739--The Strength of Love              By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  740--A Soul Laid Bare                              By J. K. Egerton
  741--The Fatal Ruby                              By Charles Garvice
  742--A Strange Wooing                              By Richard Marsh
  743--A Lost Love                                   By Wenona Gilman
  744--A Useless Sacrifice                     By Emma Garrison Jones
  745--A Will of Her Own                           By Ida Reade Allen
  746--That Girl Named Hazel              By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  747--For a Flirt’s Love                        By Geraldine Fleming
  748--The World’s Great Snare               By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  749--The Heart of a Maid                         By Charles Garvice
  750--Driven from Home                              By Wenona Gilman
  751--The Gypsy’s Warning                     By Emma Garrison Jones
  752--Without Name or Wealth                      By Ida Reade Allen
  753--Loyal Unto Death                  By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  754--His Lost Heritage                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  755--Her Priceless Love                        By Geraldine Fleming
  756--Leola’s Heart                          By Charlotte M. Stanley
  757--Dare-devil Betty                             By Evelyn Malcolm
  758--The Woman in It                             By Charles Garvice
  759--They Met by Chance                          By Ida Reade Allen
  760--Love Conquers Pride                By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
  761--A Reckless Promise                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  762--The Rose of Yesterday               By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  763--The Other Girl’s Lover                   By Lillian R. Drayton
  764--His Unbounded Faith                    By Charlotte M. Stanley
  765--When Love Speaks                             By Evelyn Malcolm
  766--The Man She Hated                 By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  767--No One to Help Her                          By Ida Reade Allen
  768--Claire’s Love-Life                     By Lucy Randall Comfort
  769--Love’s Harvest                        By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  770--A Queen of Song                           By Geraldine Fleming
  771--Nan Haggard’s Confession                      By Mary E. Bryan
  772--A Married Flirt                   By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  773--The Thorns of Love                           By Evelyn Malcolm
  774--Love in a Snare                             By Charles Garvice
  775--My Love Kitty                               By Charles Garvice
  776--That Strange Girl                           By Charles Garvice
  777--Nellie                                      By Charles Garvice
  778--Miss Estcourt; or, Olive                    By Charles Garvice
  779--A Virginia Goddess                          By Ida Reade Allen
  780--The Love He Sought                       By Lillian R. Drayton
  781--Falsely Accused                           By Geraldine Fleming
  782--His First Sweetheart                   By Lucy Randall Comfort
  783--All for Love                      By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  784--What Love Can Cost                           By Evelyn Malcolm
  785--Lady Gay’s Martyrdom                 By Charlotte May Kingsley
  786--His Good Angel                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  787--A Bartered Soul                       By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  788--In Love’s Shadows                           By Ida Reade Allen
  789--A Love Worth Winning                      By Geraldine Fleming
  790--The Fatal Kiss                    By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  791--A Lover Scorned                        By Lucy Randall Comfort
  792--After Many Days                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  793--An Innocent Outlaw                     By William Wallace Cook
  794--The Arm of the Law                           By Evelyn Malcolm
  795--The Reluctant Queen                   By J. Kenilworth Egerton
  796--The Cost of Pride                        By Lillian R. Drayton
  797--What Love Made Her                        By Geraldine Fleming
  798--Brave Heart                         By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  799--Between Good and Evil                  By Charlotte M. Stanley
  800--Caught in Love’s Net                        By Ida Reade Allen
  801--Love is a Mystery                     By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  802--The Glitter of Jewels                 By J. Kenilworth Egerton
  803--The Game of Life                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  804--A Dreadful Legacy                         By Geraldine Fleming
  805--Rogers, of Butte                       By William Wallace Cook
  806--The Haunting Past                            By Evelyn Malcolm
  807--The Love That Would Not Die                 By Ida Reade Allen
  808--The Serpent and the Dove             By Charlotte May Kingsley
  809--Through the Shadows                   By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  810--Her Kingdom                         By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  811--When Dark Clouds Gather                   By Geraldine Fleming
  812--Her Fateful Choice                     By Charlotte M. Stanley
  813--Sorely Tried                            By Emma Garrison Jones
  814--Far Above Price                              By Evelyn Malcolm
  815--Bitter Sweet                        By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  816--A Clouded Life                              By Ida Reade Allen
  817--When Fate Decrees                     By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  818--The Girl Who Was True                       By Charles Garvice
  819--Where Love is Sent                    By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  820--The Pride of My Heart                     By Laura Jean Libbey
  821--The Girl in Red                              By Evelyn Malcolm
  822--Why Did She Shun Him?               By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  823--Between Love and Conscience            By Charlotte M. Stanley
  824--Spectres of the Past                        By Ida Reade Allen
  825--The Hearts of the Mighty              By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  826--The Irony of Love                           By Charles Garvice
  827--At Arms With Fate                    By Charlotte May Kingsley
  828--Love’s Young Dream                        By Laura Jean Libbey
  829--Her Golden Secret                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  830--The Stolen Bride                             By Evelyn Malcolm
  831--Love’s Rugged Pathway                       By Ida Reade Allen
  832--A Love Rejected--A Love Won               By Geraldine Fleming
  833--Her Life’s Dark Cloud                    By Lillian R. Drayton
  834--A Hero for Love’s Sake              By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  835--When the Heart Hungers                 By Charlotte M. Stanley
  836--Love Given in Vain                    By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  837--The Web of Life                             By Ida Reade Allen
  838--Love Surely Triumphs                 By Charlotte May Kingsley
  839--The Lovely Constance                      By Laura Jean Libbey
  840--On a Sea of Sorrow                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  841--Her Hated Husband                            By Evelyn Malcolm
  842--When Hearts Beat True                     By Geraldine Fleming
  843--WO2                                           By Maurice Drake
  844--Too Quickly Judged                          By Ida Reade Allen


To be published during August, 1913.

  845--For Her Husband’s Love                By Charlotte May Stanley
  846--The Fatal Rose                        By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  847--The Love That Prevailed               By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  848--Just an Angel                            By Lillian R. Drayton


To be published during September, 1913.

  849--Stronger Than Fate                      By Emma Garrison Jones
  850--A Life’s Love                       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  851--From Dreams to Waking                 By Charlotte M. Kingsley
  852--A Barrier Between Them                       By Evelyn Malcolm


To be published during October, 1913.

  853--His Love for Her                          By Geraldine Fleming
  854--A Changeling’s Love                         By Ida Reade Allen
  855--Could He Have Known!                  By Charlotte May Stanley
  856--Loved in Vain                         By Adelaide Fox Robinson
  857--The Fault of One                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands


To be published during November, 1913.

  858--Her Life’s Desire                     By Mrs. E. Burke Collins
  859--A Wife Yet no Wife                       By Lillian R. Drayton
  860--Her Twentieth Guest                     By Emma Garrison Jones
  861--The Love Knot                         By Charlotte M. Kingsley


To be published during December, 1913.

  862--Tricked into Marriage                        By Evelyn Malcolm
  863--The Spell She Wove                        By Geraldine Fleming
  864--The Mistress of the Farm            By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  865--Chained to a Villain                        By Ida Reade Allen
  866--No Mother to Guide Her                By Mrs. E. Burke Collins

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed above will be issued, during the respective months, in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers, at a distance,
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.




                  THE EAGLE SERIES

  Principally Copyrights      Elegant Colored Covers

        “THE RIGHT BOOKS AT THE RIGHT PRICE”


While the books in the New Eagle Series are undoubtedly better value,
being bigger books, the stories offered to the public in this line
must not be underestimated. There are over four hundred copyrighted
books by famous authors, which cannot be had in any other line. No
other publisher in the world has a line that contains so many different
titles, nor can any publisher ever hope to secure books that will match
those in the Eagle Series in quality.

This is the pioneer line of copyrighted novels, and that it has struck
popular fancy just right is proven by the fact that for fifteen years
it has been the first choice of American readers. The only reason
that we can afford to give such excellent reading at such a low
price is that our unlimited capital and great organization enable us
to manufacture books more cheaply and to sell more of them without
expensive advertising, than any other publishers.


ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

    TO THE PUBLIC:--Those books are sold by news dealers
    everywhere. If your dealer does not keep them, and will
    not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in
    which case four cents must be added to the price per
    copy to cover postage.

=====================================================================
    3--The Love of Violet Lee                        By Julia Edwards
    4--For a Woman’s Honor                          By Bertha M. Clay
    5--The Senator’s Favorite            By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
    6--The Midnight Marriage                         By A. M. Douglas
    8--Beautiful But Poor                            By Julia Edwards
    9--The Virginia Heiress                      By May Agnes Fleming
   10--Little Sunshine                            By Francis S. Smith
   11--The Gipsy’s Daughter                         By Bertha M. Clay
   13--The Little Widow                              By Julia Edwards
   14--Violet Lisle                                By Bertha  M. Clay
   15--Dr. Jack                               By St. George Rathborne
   16--The Fatal Card         By Haddon Chambers and B. C. Stephenson
   17--Leslie’s Loyalty                            By Charles Garvice
        (His Love So True)
   18--Dr. Jack’s Wife                        By St. George Rathborne
   19--Mr. Lake of Chicago                    By Harry DuBois Milman
   21--A Heart’s Idol                               By Bertha M. Clay
   22--Elaine                                      By Charles Garvice
   23--Miss Pauline of New York               By St. George Rathborne
   24--A Wasted Love                               By Charles Garvice
        (On Love’s Altar)
   25--Little Southern Beauty            By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
   26--Captain Tom                            By St. George Rathborne
   27--Estelle’s Millionaire Lover                   By Julia Edwards
   28--Miss Caprice                           By St. George Rathborne
   29--Theodora                                   By Victorien Sardou
   30--Baron Sam                              By St. George Rathborne
   31--A Siren’s Love                             By Robert Lee Tyler
   32--The Blockade Runner                        By J. Perkins Tracy
   33--Mrs. Bob                               By St. George Rathborne
   34--Pretty Geraldine                  By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
   35--The Great Mogul                        By St. George Rathborne
   36--Fedora                                     By Victorien Sardou
   37--The Heart of Virginia                      By J. Perkins Tracy
   38--The Nabob of Singapore                 By St. George Rathborne
   39--The Colonel’s Wife                           By Warren Edwards
   40--Monsieur Bob                           By St. George Rathborne
   41--Her Heart’s Desire                          By Charles Garvice
        (An Innocent Girl)
   42--Another Woman’s Husband                      By Bertha M. Clay
   43--Little Coquette Bonnie            By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
   45--A Yale Man                                 By Robert Lee Tyler
   46--Off with the Old Love                     By Mrs. M. V. Victor
   47--The Colonel by Brevet                  By St. George Rathborne
   48--Another Man’s Wife                           By Bertha M. Clay
   49--None But the Brave                         By Robert Lee Tyler
   50--Her Ransom                                  By Charles Garvice
         (Paid For)
   51--The Price He Paid                                 By E. Werner
   52--Woman Against Woman                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
   54--Cleopatra                                  By Victorien Sardou
   56--The Dispatch Bearer                          By Warren Edwards
   58--Major Matterson of Kentucky            By St. George Rathborne
   59--Gladys Greye                                 By Bertha M. Clay
   61--La Tosca                                   By Victorien Sardou
   62--Stella Stirling                               By Julia Edwards
   63--Lawyer Bell from Boston                    By Robert Lee Tyler
   64--Dora Tenney                       By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
   65--Won by the Sword                           By J. Perkins Tracy
   67--Gismonda                                   By Victorien Sardou
   68--The Little Cuban Rebel                        By Edna Winfield
   69--His Perfect Trust                            By Bertha M. Clay
   70--Sydney                                      By Charles Garvice
         (A Wilful Young Woman)
   71--The Spider’s Web                       By St. George Rathborne
   72--Wilful Winnie                             By Harriet Sherburne
   73--The Marquis                                 By Charles Garvice
   74--The Cotton King                                 By Sutton Vane
   75--Under Fire                                      By T. P. James
   76--Mavourneen                            From the celebrated play
   78--The Yankee Champion                      By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
   79--Out of the Past                             By Charles Garvice
        (Marjorie)
   80--The Fair Maid of Fez                   By St. George Rathborne
   81--Wedded for an Hour                      By Emma Garrison Jones
   82--Captain Impudence                        By Edwin Milton Royle
   83--The Locksmith of Lyons                 By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck
   84--Imogene                                     By Charles Garvice
      (Dumaresq’s Temptation)
   85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold                     By Charles Garvice
   86--A Widowed Bride                        By Lucy Randall Comfort
   87--Shenandoah                                 By J. Perkins Tracy
   89--A Gentleman from Gascony                    By Bicknell Dudley
   90--For Fair Virginia                               By Russ Whytal
   91--Sweet Violet                      By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
   92--Humanity                                        By Sutton Vane
   94--Darkest Russia                          By H. Grattan Donnelly
   95--A Wilful Maid                               By Charles Garvice
      (Philippa)
   96--The Little Minister                            By J. M. Barrie
   97--The War Reporter                             By Warren Edwards
   98--Claire                                      By Charles Garvice
      (The Mistress of Court Regna)
  100--Alice Blake                                By Francis S. Smith
  101--A Goddess of Africa                    By St. George Rathborne
  102--Sweet Cymbeline                            By Charles Garvice
      (Bellmaire)
  103--The Span of Life                               By Sutton Vane
  104--A Proud Dishonor                           By Genie Holzmeyer
  105--When London Sleeps                           By Chas. Darrell
  106--Lillian, My Lillian              By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  107--Carla; or, Married at Sight        By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  108--A Son of Mars                         By St. George Rathborne
  109--Signa’s Sweetheart                         By Charles Garvice
      (Lord Delamere’s Bride)
  110--Whose Wife is She?                             By Annie Lisle
  112--The Cattle King                                 By A. D. Hall
  113--A Crushed Lily                  By Mrs.  Alex. McVeigh Miller
  114--Half a Truth                                   By Dora Delmar
  115--A Fair Revolutionist                  By St. George Rathborne
  116--The Daughter of the Regiment               By Mary A. Denison
  117--She Loved Him                              By Charles Garvice
  118--Saved from the Sea                           By Richard Duffy
  119--’Twixt Smile and Tear                      By Charles Garvice
      (Dulcie)
  120--The White Squadron                          By T. C. Harbaugh
  121--Cecile’s Marriage                     By Lucy Randall Comfort
  123--Northern Lights                                 By A. D. Hall
  237--Woman or Witch?                                 By Dora Delmar
  238--That Other Woman                               By Annie Thomas
  239--Don Cæsar De Bazan                              By Victor Hugo
  240--Saved by the Sword                     By St. George Rathborne
  241--Her Love and Trust                         By Adeline Sergeant
  242--A Wounded Heart                             By Charles Garvice
        (Sweet as a Rose)
  243--His Double Self                              By Scott Campbell
  245--A Modern Marriage                               By Clara Lanza
  246--True to Herself                         By Mrs. J. H. Walworth
  247--Within Love’s Portals                         By Frank Barrett
  248--Jeanne, Countess Du Barry                    By H. L. Williams
  249--What Love Will Do                         By Geraldine Fleming
  250--A Woman’s Soul                              By Charles Garvice
       (Doris; or, Behind the Footlights)
  251--When Love is True                             By Mabel Collins
  252--A Handsome Sinner                               By Dora Delmar
  253--A Fashionable Marriage                     By Mrs. Alex Frazer
  254--Little Miss Millions                   By St. George Rathborne
  256--Thy Name is Woman                                By F. H. Howe
  257--A Martyred Love                             By Charles Garvice
        (Iris; or, Under the Shadow)
  258--An Amazing Marriage                      By Mrs. Sumner Hayden
  259--By a Golden Cord                                By Dora Delmar
  260--At a Girl’s Mercy                          By Jean Kate Ludlum
  261--A Siren’s Heart                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  262--A Woman’s Faith                               By Henry Wallace
  263--An American Nabob                      By St. George Rathborne
  264--For Gold or Soul                          By Lurana W. Sheldon
  265--First Love is Best                            By S. K. Hocking
  267--Jeanne                                      By Charles Garvice
        (Barriers Between)
  268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake             By Charles Garvice
  270--Had She Foreseen                                By Dora Delmar
  271--With Love’s Laurel Crowned                     By W. C. Stiles
  272--So Fair, So False                           By Charles Garvice
        (The Beauty of the Season)
  273--At Swords Points                       By St. George Rathborne
  274--A Romantic Girl                             By Evelyn E. Green
  275--Love’s Cruel Whim                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  276--So Nearly Lost                              By Charles Garvice
        (The Springtime of Love)
  278--Laura Brayton                                 By Julia Edwards
  279--Nina’s Peril                      By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  280--Love’s Dilemma                              By Charles Garvice
        (For an Earldom)
  281--For Love Alone                                By Wenona Gilman
  283--My Lady Pride                               By Charles Garvice
        (Floris)
  284--Dr. Jack’s Widow                       By St. George Rathborne
  285--Born to Betray                            By Mrs. M. V. Victor
  287--The Lady of Darracourt                      By Charles Garvice
  289--Married in Mask                       By Mansfield T. Walworth
  290--A Change of Heart                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  292--For Her Only                                By Charles Garvice
        (Diana)
  294--A Warrior Bold                         By St. George Rathborne
  295--A Terrible Secret and Countess Isabel        Geraldine Fleming
  296--The Heir of Vering                          By Charles Garvice
  297--That Girl from Texas                    By Mrs. J. H. Walworth
  298--Should She Have Left Him?                     By Barclay North
  300--The Spider and the Fly                      By Charles Garvice
        (Violet)
  301--The False and the True              By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  302--When Man’s Love Fades                            By Hazel Wood
  303--The Queen of the Isle                     By May Agnes Fleming
  304--Stanch as a Woman                           By Charles Garvice
        (A Maiden’s Sacrifice)
  305--Led by Love                                 By Charles Garvice
        Sequel to “Stanch as a Woman”
  306--Love’s Golden Rule                        By Geraldine Fleming
  307--The Winning of Isolde                  By St. George Rathborne
  308--Lady Ryhope’s Lover                     By Emma Garrison Jones
  309--The Heiress of Castle Cliffe              By May Agnes Fleming
  310--A Late Repentance                           By Mary A. Denison
  312--Woven on Fate’s Loom and The Snowdrift      By Charles Garvice
  313--A Kinsman’s Sin                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  314--A Maid’s Fatal Love                     By Helen Corwin Pierce
  315--The Dark Secret                           By May Agnes Fleming
  316--Edith Lyle’s Secret                     By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
  317--Ione                                      By Laura Jean Libbey
  318--Stanch of Heart                             By Charles Garvice
        (Adrien Le Roy)
  319--Millbank                                By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
  320--Mynheer Joe                            By St. George Rathborne
  321--Neva’s Three Lovers                      By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  322--Mildred                                 By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
  323--The Little Countess                             By S. E. Boggs
  324--A Love Match                             By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
  325--The Leighton Homestead                 By Mrs. Mary J.  Holmes
  326--Parted by Fate                            By Laura Jean Libbey
  327--Was She Wife or Widow?                         By Malcolm Bell
  328--He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not                By Charles Garvice
        (Valeria)
  329--My Hildegarde                          By St. George Rathborne
  330--Aikenside                              By Mrs. Mary J.  Holmes
  331--Christine                                  By Adeline Sergeant
  332--Darkness and Daylight                  By Mrs. Mary J.  Holmes
  333--Stella’s Fortune                            By Charles Garvice
        (The Sculptor’s Wooing)
  334--Miss McDonald                          By Mrs. Mary  J. Holmes
  335--We Parted at the Altar                    By Laura Jean Libbey
  336--Rose Mather                             By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
  337--Dear Elsie                                  By Mary J. Safford
  338--A Daughter of Russia                   By St. George Rathborne
  340--Bad Hugh. Vol. I.                       By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
  341--Bad Hugh. Vol. II.                      By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
  342--Her Little Highness                   By Nataly Von Eschstruth
  343--Little Sunshine                              By Adah M. Howard
  344--Leah’s Mistake                           By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman
  345--Tresillian Court                         By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  346--Guy Tresillian’s Fate                    By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
        Sequel to “Tresillian Court”
  347--The Eyes of Love                            By Charles Garvice
  348--My Florida Sweetheart                  By St. George Rathborne
  349--Marion Grey                                  By Mary J. Holmes
  350--A Wronged Wife                           By Mary Grace Halpine
  352--Family Pride. Vol. I.                        By Mary J. Holmes
  353--Family Pride. Vol. II.                       By Mary J. Holmes
  354--A Love Comedy                               By Charles Garvice
  355--Wife and Woman                              By Mary J. Safford
  356--Little Kit                          By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  357--Montezuma’s Mines                      By St. George Rathborne
  358--Beryl’s Husband                          By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  359--The Spectre’s Secret                     By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
  360--An Only Daughter                                 By Hazel Wood
  361--The Ashes of Love                           By Charles Garvice
  363--The Opposite House                    By Nataly Von Eschstruth
  364--A Fool’s Paradise                        By Mary Grace Halpine
  365--Under a Cloud                              By Jean Kate Ludlum
  366--Comrades in Exile                      By St. George Rathborne
  367--Hearts and Coronets                          By Jane G. Fuller
  368--The Pride of Her Life                       By Charles Garvice
  369--At a Great Cost                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  370--Edith Trevor’s Secret                    By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  371--Cecil Rosse                              By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
        Sequel to “Edith Trevor’s Secret”
  374--True Daughter of Hartenstein                By Mary J. Safford
  375--Transgressing the Law                By Capt. Fred’k Whittaker
  376--The Red Slipper                        By St. George Rathborne
  377--Forever True                        By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  378--John Winthrop’s Defeat                     By Jean Kate Ludlum
  379--Blinded by Love                       By Nataly Von Eschstruth
  380--Her Double Life                          By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  381--The Sunshine of Love                     By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
        Sequel to “Her Double Life”
  383--A Lover from Across the Sea                 By Mary J. Safford
  384--Yet She Loved Him                          By Mrs. Kate Vaughn
  385--A Woman Against Her                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  386--Teddy’s Enchantress                    By St. George Rathborne
  387--A Heroine’s Plot                      By Katherine S. MacQuoid
  388--Two Wives                                        By Hazel Wood
  389--Sundered Hearts                          By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  390--A Mutual Vow                                   By Harold Payne
  392--A Resurrected Love                        By Seward W. Hopkins
  393--On the Wings of Fate                By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  394--A Drama of a Life                          By Jean Kate Ludlum
  395--Wooing a Widow                                   By E. A. King
  396--Back to Old Kentucky                   By St. George Rathborne
  397--A Gilded Promise                          By Walter Bloomfield
  398--Cupid’s Disguise                               By Fanny Lewald
  400--For Another’s Wrong                             By W. Heimburg
  401--The Woman Who Came Between          By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  402--A Silent Heroine                          By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey
  403--The Rival Suitors                            By J. H. Connelly
  404--The Captive Bride                    By Capt. Fred’k Whittaker
  405--The Haunted Husband                      By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  406--Felipe’s Pretty Sister                 By St. George Rathborne
  408--On a False Charge                         By Seward W. Hopkins
  409--A Girl’s Kingdom                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  410--Miss Mischief                                   By W. Heimburg
  411--Fettered and Freed                         By Eugene Charvette
  412--The Love that Lives               By Capt. Frederick Whittaker
  413--Were They Married?                               By Hazel Wood
  414--A Girl’s First Love                     By Elizabeth C. Winter
  416--Down in Dixie                          By St. George Rathborne
  417--Brave Barbara                       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  418--An Insignificant Woman                          By W. Heimburg
  420--A Sweet Little Lady                         By Gertrude Warden
  421--Her Sweet Reward                               By Barbara Kent
  422--Lady Kildare                             By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  423--A Woman’s Way                     By Capt. Frederick Whittaker
  424--A Splendid Man                      By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  425--A College Widow                               By Frank H. Howe
  427--A Wizard of the Moors                  By St. George Rathborne
  428--A Tramp’s Daughter                               By Hazel Wood
  429--A Fair Fraud                           By Emily Lovett Cameron
  430--The Honor of a Heart                        By Mary J. Safford
  431--Her Husband and Her Love            By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  432--Breta’s Double                             By Helen V. Greyson
  435--Under Oath                                 By Jean Kate Ludlum
  436--The Rival Toreadors                    By St. George Rathborne
  437--The Breach of Custom                      By Mrs. D. M. Lowrey
  438--So Like a Man                       By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  439--Little Nan                                  By Mary A. Denison
  441--A Princess of the Stage               By Nataly Von Eschstruth
  442--Love Before Duty                           By Mrs. L. T. Meade
  443--In Spite of Proof                           By Gertrude Warden
  444--Love’s Trials                             By Alfred R. Calhoun
  445--An Angel of Evil                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  446--Bound with Love’s Fetters                By Mary Grace Halpine
  447--A Favorite of Fortune                  By St. George Rathborne
  448--When Love Dawns                           By Adelaide Stirling
  303--The Queen of the Isle                     By May Agnes Fleming
  449--The Bailiff’s Scheme                     By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  450--Rosamond’s Love                          By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
        Sequel to “The Bailiff’s Scheme”
  452--The Last of the Van Slacks               By Edward S. Van Zile
  453--A Poor Girl’s Passion                       By Gertrude Warden
  454--Love’s Probation                            By Elizabeth Olmis
  455--Love’s Greatest Gift                By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  456--A Vixen’s Treachery                      By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  457--Adrift in the World                      By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
        Sequel to “A Vixen’s Treachery”
  459--A Golden Mask                          By Charlotte M. Stanley
  460--Dr. Jack’s Talisman                    By St. George Rathborne
  461--Above All Things                          By Adelaide Stirling
  462--A Stormy Wedding                              By Mary E. Bryan
  463--A Wife’s Triumph                    By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  464--The Old Life’s Shadows                   By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  465--Outside Her Eden                         By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
        Sequel to “The Old Life’s Shadows”
  466--Love, the Victor                  By a Popular Southern Author
  467--Zina’s Awaking                           By Mrs. J. K. Spender
  468--The Wooing of a Fairy                       By Gertrude Warden
  469--A Soldier and a Gentleman                      By J. M. Cobban
  470--A Strange Wedding                  By Mary Hartwell Catherwood
  471--A Shadowed Happiness                By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  472--Dr. Jack and Company                   By St. George Rathborne
  473--A Sacrifice to Love                       By Adelaide Stirling
  474--The Belle of the Season                  By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
  475--Love Before Pride                        By Mrs. Harriet Lewis
        Sequel to “The Belle of the Season”
  477--The Siberian Exiles                        By Col. Thomas Knox
  478--For Love of Sigrid                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  479--Mysterious Mr. Sabin                  By E. Phillips Oppenheim
  480--A Perfect Fool                              By Florence Warden
  481--Wedded, Yet No Wife                       By May Agnes Fleming
  482--A Little Worldling                          By L. C. Ellsworth
  483--Miss Marston’s Heart                         By L. H. Bickford
  484--The Whistle of Fate                           By Richard Marsh
  485--The End Crowns All                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  486--Divided Lives                                 By Edgar Fawcett
  487--A Wonderful Woman                         By May Agnes Fleming
  488--The French Witch                            By Gertrude Warden
  489--Lucy Harding                            By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes
  490--The Price of Jealousy                             By Maud Howe
  491--My Lady of Dreadwood                By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  492--A Speedy Wooing           By the Author of “As Common Mortals”
  493--The Girl He Loved                         By Adelaide Stirling
  494--Voyagers of Fortune                    By St. George Rathborne
  495--Norine’s Revenge                          By May Agnes Fleming
  496--The Missing Heiress                          By C. H. Montague
  497--A Chase for Love                          By Seward W. Hopkins
  498--Andrew Leicester’s Love             By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  499--My Lady Cinderella                    By Mrs. C. N. Williamson
  500--Love and Spite                            By Adelaide Stirling
  501--Her Husband’s Secret              By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  502--Fair Maid Marian                   By Mrs. Emma Garrison Jones
  503--A Lady in Black                             By Florence Warden
  504--Evelyn, the Actress                           By Wenona Gilman
  505--Selina’s Love-story                 By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  506--A Secret Foe                                By Gertrude Warden
  507--A Mad Betrothal                           By Laura Jean Libbey
  508--Lottie and Victorine                   By Lucy Randall Comfort
  509--A Penniless Princess                    By Emma Garrison Jones
  510--Doctor Jack’s Paradise Mine            By St. George Rathborne
  513--A Sensational Case                          By Florence Warden
  514--The Temptation of Mary Barr         By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  515--Tiny Luttrell                                 By E. W. Hornung
                        (Author of “Raffles, the Amateur Cracksman”)
  516--Florabel’s Lover                          By Laura Jean Libbey
  517--They Looked and Loved             By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
  518--The Secret of a Letter                      By Gertrude Warden
  521--The Witch from India                   By St. George Rathborne
  522--A Spurned Proposal                  By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  523--A Banker of Bankersville                   By Maurice Thompson
  524--A Sacrifice of Pride                       By Mrs. Louisa Parr
  525--Sweet Kitty Clover                        By Laura Jean Libbey
  526--Love and Hate                                By Morley Roberts
  527--For Love and Glory                     By St. George Rathborne
  528--Adela’s Ordeal                              By Florence Warden
  529--Hearts Aflame                                 By Louise Winter
  530--The Wiles of a Siren                By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  532--True to His Bride                       By Emma Garrison Jones
  533--A Forgotten Love                          By Adelaide Stirling
  534--Lotta, the Cloak Model                    By Laura Jean Libbey
  535--The Trifler                                  By Archibald Eyre
  536--Companions in Arms                     By St. George Rathborne
  538--The Fighting Chance                          By Gertrude Lynch
  539--A Heart’s Triumph                   By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  540--A Daughter of Darkness                      By Ida Reade Allen
  541--Her Evil Genius                           By Adelaide Stirling
  543--The Veiled Bride                          By Laura Jean Libbey
  544--In Love’s Name                          By Emma Garrison Jones
  545--Well Worth Winning                     By St. George Rathborne
  546--The Career of Mrs. Osborne                   By Helen Milecete
  549--Tempted by Love                     By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
  550--Saved from Herself                        By Adelaide Stirling
  551--Pity--Not Love                            By Laura Jean Libbey
  552--At the Court of the Maharaja                    By Louis Tracy




                   _GREAT STORIES BY A GREAT AUTHOR_

                       _The New Fiction Series_

Letters of congratulation have been showered upon us from all over the
country by enthusiastic readers who say that had we not announced that
Mr. Cook wrote all of these stories, it would have been very difficult
to determine it.

The reason is that Mr. Cook is a widely traveled man and has,
therefore, been enabled to lay the plot of one of his stories in the
“land of little rain,” another on the high seas, another in Spain and
Spanish America, and to write a railroad story that a reader of thirty
years’ experience decided must have been written by a veteran railroad
man. If stories of vigorous adventure are wanted, stories that are
drawn true to life and give that thrill which all really good fiction
ought to give, the books listed here are what you want.


_ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT_

    TO THE PUBLIC:--These books are sold by news dealers
    everywhere. If your dealer does not keep them, and will
    not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in
    which case four cents must be added to the price per
    copy to cover postage.

=============================================================
          _By WILLIAM WALLACE COOK_

   1--The Desert Argonaut.
   2--A Quarter to Four.
   3--Thorndyke, of the “Bonita.”
   4--A Round Trip to the Year 2000.
   5--The Gold Gleaners.
   6--The Spur of Necessity.
   7--The Mysterious Mission.
   8--The Goal of a Million.
   9--Marooned in 1492.
  10--Running the Signal.
  11--His Friend, the Enemy.
  12--In the Web.
  13--A Deep Sea Game.
  14--The Paymaster’s Special.
  15--Adrift in the Unknown.
  16--Jim Dexter, Cattleman.
  17--Juggling With Liberty.
  18--Back From Bedlam.
  19--A River Tangle.
  20--An Innocent Outlaw.
  21--Billionaire Pro Tem and the Trail of the Billy Doo.
  22--Rogers of Butte.
  23--In the Wake of the “Simitar.”
  24--His Audacious Highness.
  25--At Daggers Drawn.
  26--The Eighth Wonder.
  27--The Catspaw.
  28--The Cotton Bag.
  29--Little Miss Vassar.
  30--Cast Away at the Pole.
  31--The Testing of Noyes.
  32--The Fateful Seventh.
  33--Montana.
  34--The Deserter.
  35--The Sheriff of Broken Bow.
  36--Wanted--A Highwayman.
  37--Frisbie, of San Antone.
  38--His Last Dollar.
  39--Fools for Luck.
  40--Dare, of Darling & Co.
  41--Trailing the “Josephine.”




  SWEET VIOLET;

  OR,

  THE FAIREST OF THE FAIR.

  BY

  MRS. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER,

  Author of “Little Coquette Bonnie,” “The Senator’s Bride,” “Brunette
  and Blonde,” “Rosamond,” “The Senator’s Favorite,”
  “A Little Southern Beauty,” Etc., Etc.

  [Illustration]

  NEW YORK:
  STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS




  Copyright, 1894,
  BY STREET & SMITH

  Sweet Violet




THIN FOR YEARS

[Illustration]

“Gains 22 Pounds in 23 Days”

“I was all run down to the very bottom,” writes F. Gagnon. “I had to
quit work I was so weak. Now, thanks to Sargol, I look like a new man.
I gained 22 pounds in 23 days.”

“I weighed 132 pounds when I commenced taking Sargol. After taking 20
days I weighed 144 pounds. Sargol is the most wonderful preparation
of flesh building I have ever seen,” declares D. Martin, and J. Meier
adds: “For the past twenty years I have taken medicine every day
for indigestion and got thinner every year. I took Sargol for forty
days and feel better than I have felt in twenty years. My weight has
increased from 150 to 170 pounds.”

When hundreds of men and women--and there are hundreds, with more
coming every day--living in every nook and corner of this broad land
voluntarily testify to weight increases ranging all the way from 10 to
35 pounds given them by Sargol, you must admit, Mr. and Mrs. and Miss
Thin Reader, that there must be something in this Sargol method of
flesh building after all.

Sargol is absolutely harmless. It is a tiny concentrated tablet. You
take one with every meal. It mixes with the food you eat for the
purpose of separating all of its flesh producing ingredients. It
prepares these fat making elements in an easily assimilated form, which
the blood can readily absorb and carry all over your body. Plump,
well-developed persons don’t need Sargol to produce this result. Their
assimilative machinery performs its functions without aid. But thin
folks’ assimilative organs do not. This fatty portion of their food
now goes to waste through their bodies like unburned coal through an
open grate. A few days’ test of Sargol in your case will surely prove
whether or not this is true of you. Isn’t it worth trying?




50c BOX FREE

To enable any thin reader, 10 pounds or more under weight, to easily
make this test, we will give a 50c box of Sargol absolutely free.
Either Sargol will increase your weight or it won’t and the only way to
know is to try it. Send for this Free Test Package to-day, enclosing
10c in silver or stamps to help pay postage, packing, etc., and a full
size 50c package will be sent by return mail free of charge. Mail this
coupon with your letter to the Sargol Co., Dept. 23 Herald Bldg.,
Binghamton, N. Y.




Come, Eat With Us at Our Expense.

This coupon entitles any person to one 50c package of Sargol, the
concentrated Flesh Builder (provided you have never tried it), and that
10c is enclosed to cover postage, packing, etc. Read our advertisement
printed above, and then put 10c in silver in letter to-day, with coupon
and the full 50c package will be sent you by return post. Address: =The
Sargol Company, Dept. 23 Herald Bldg., Binghamton, N. Y.= Write your
name and address plainly and =Pin This Coupon to Your Letter=.




Why Take a Chance?

Most everybody thinks that the public library is a mighty fine
institution--teaches people to read, and all that. Well, so it does,
but does any one ever think of the great risk that a person, who takes
a book out of a public library, runs of catching some contagious
disease?

Every time a bacteriological examination is made of the public-library
book, germs of every known disease are found among its pages. Probably,
from your own experience, you know that lots of people never think of
taking a book from the public library, until some one in their family
is sick and wants something to read.

As records prove that ninety per cent of the demand for books at the
public libraries is for works of fiction, it strikes us that the
reading public would do better to patronize the S. & S. novel list
which contains hundreds of books to be found in the public libraries,
and many hundreds of others just as good and interesting.

The price of the S. & S. novels is a low one indeed to pay for
protection from disease-laden literature. Why run the risk, then, when
you can get a fresh, clean book for little money and thus insure your
health?


  STREET & SMITH, _Publishers_
  NEW YORK




SWEET VIOLET.




CHAPTER I.

FAIREST OF THE FAIR.


Judge Camden’s two beautiful granddaughters were the pride of Fauquier
County, and both were so charming that Paris himself must have
hesitated long before awarding the golden apple to one alone as fairest
of the fair.

Violet Mead and Amber Laurens were cousins and orphans, and looked upon
as heiresses, for all of the old judge’s money would come to them at
his death.

Violet was as lovely as her namesake flower, a blonde, with curling
golden hair, dazzling dark-blue eyes, a pink and white skin, and an
arch, spirited face, where Cupid hid in bewitching dimples. She was
barely seventeen, and Amber but one year older--Amber, the brilliant
brunette, with her graceful, willowy form, so tall and slender,
golden-hazel eyes, olive skin, and dark-brown tresses in smooth, satiny
braids at the back of her proud little head. They were as different in
mind as in looks, for Violet was frank, free, spirited, with a sunshiny
nature; while Amber was quite the reverse in everything--reserved and
dignified, with an undercurrent of jealous pride and passion.

The two girls had never been as fond of each other as some cousins, but
they were carelessly affectionate, and they might never have become
so terribly alienated had they not had the bitter misfortune of losing
their hearts to the same man.

How many alienations have come from this one cause; how many awful
tragedies have followed in its train; how many hearts have been broken
for a jealous love!

  “Oh, Love! so sweet at first,
    So bitter in the end;
  Thou canst be fiercest foe,
    As well as fairest friend!”

Cecil Grant had met Amber Laurens first while her cousin was away
at boarding-school. He admired the brilliant brunette very much,
and showed her enough attention to set the gossips of Greenville to
predicting a match between the extremely handsome pair.

But, suddenly, when the summer was at its goldenest, the Virginia skies
their bluest, the flowers their fairest, Violet Mead came home from
school, her curly, golden head full of romantic fancies, herself the
sweetest flower that bloomed at Golden Willows, the judge’s picturesque
country home. She had never had a lover, but the romantic little maiden
had begun to dream already of her fate.

When Cecil Grant met Violet, in her bonny, joyous girlhood, so happy
and so lovely, it was like a revelation to his burning heart.

He realized in a moment that his admiration for Amber had been but
an idle fancy for a coquettish beauty. Let others hesitate as they
would over the cousin’s beauty, he thought Violet the truest, fairest,
purest, and most charming girl in the whole world. His heart went out
to her in a tide of resistless love, and he vowed to win her for his
worshiped bride.

And if jealous, imperious Amber had not already given him her proud,
passionate heart, he might have succeeded in his aim and realized his
dreams of happiness and bliss.

But, day by day, Amber Laurens had marked his adoration for Violet, and
at last she woke up to the fatal truth that she had lost her admirer.
The sleeping tiger was aroused in her nature, and from that moment
sweet Violet’s fate was sealed.

Ah, the pity of it that love should ever change to hate--that a jealous
nature should stop at nothing till it had laid waste all the fair
flowers of hope and joy springing to life in a young girl’s heart!

  “This is where the roses grew,
    Till the ground was all perfume,
  And whenever zephyrs blew,
    Carpeted with crimson bloom.
  Now the chill and scentless air
    Sweeps the flower-plots brown and bare!”




CHAPTER II.

LOVE’S YOUNG DREAM.


“Violet, I love you!”

The most romantic girl in the world could not have chosen a fairer
scene for such beautiful words.

Violet had wandered down to the river, whose fringe of golden willows
gave Judge Camden’s place its name. The pretty stream went singing by
the foot of the sloping green lawn, and the girl loved its voice, like
a mother’s lullaby.

She threw herself carelessly on the green, mossy bank murmuring,
plaintively:

“I wonder if Amber spoke the truth this morning when she claimed Cecil
for her lover. If she did, he is a heartless flirt, for all his looks
and words and actions have seemed plainly to declare that he preferred
me!”

The rosy mouth quivered with grief, and tears dimmed the dazzling,
dark-blue eyes, for Amber had been very harsh that day when the two
girls were quite alone. She had chided sweet Violet for going about
clothed always in simple white.

“How silly you look, Violet, always in white, like a great baby! Have
you no colored gowns?”

“Dozens of them, Amber, but I like my white gowns better these sweet,
warm summer days.”

“My India silk is just as cool,” cried Amber, smoothing down the soft
folds of green flowered silk with her dainty, jeweled hands.

Only last evening she had heard Cecil Grant declare that a pretty girl
always looked angelic in white, and that was why the storm had burst on
Violet’s head to-day.

But, all unconscious of her cousin’s bitter jealousy, the lovely girl
shook back her golden locks and answered, smilingly:

“I like my white gowns better.”

Amber’s eyes grew dark with hate for her pretty cousin, and she flashed
out, angrily:

“You wear them to please my handsome lover, Cecil Grant, because he
said white gowns were pretty! You are trying to steal him from me!”

Gentle Violet stared at her angry cousin with wondering blue eyes and
cried, breathlessly:

“I did not know you claimed Cecil for your lover, Amber, for I
thought--thought----”

She paused, with a lovely blush.

“You thought he admired you, Miss Vanity? Well, you were bitterly
mistaken, let me tell you! We were engaged before you came home from
school, and Cecil has only been amusing himself with your credulity,
while I looked on and applauded the fun! But the joke has gone far
enough now, and the nonsense must come to an end. Ever since you came
home you have tried to supplant me in Cecil’s heart, and I will no
longer endure this rivalry! I----”

But she paused in her angry speech for want of a listener. Poor Violet
had rushed from the room in tears.

Her grief was keen and bitter, for Cecil’s smiles and looks had wiled
away her girlish heart, and it was cruel to hear that he loved another.

She had wandered down to the river-bank, her heart aching over the
perfidy of handsome Cecil, who had made such audacious love to her
with his tender, dark eyes while he was engaged to Amber.

“I--I--hate him!” she sobbed, miserably. “He is a wretched flirt, and
Amber is no better to let him fool me so wickedly! I should like to
punish them both for their treachery to me. Why didn’t they tell me
frankly at first that they were engaged to be married and save me all
this bitter pain?”

And all the while, behind the shade of the golden willows, Cecil Grant
had been watching his little love in her soft, white gown and listening
to her petulant complaints.

Suddenly he started forward, crying out, eagerly:

“Sweet Violet, you must not think such unkind thoughts of me, for I am
not Amber’s lover, in spite of all she has told you. My darling, I love
you!”

He gazed at Violet with adoring eyes, and she blushed to hear from her
lover’s lips those sweetest words in the language, “I love you!”

“Sweet Violet, I love you!” cried Cecil Grant, ardently, and he sank
down beside her, catching her little snowflake of a hand in his,
pleading tenderly:

“I adore you, my little darling! Will you be my wife?”

It was an abrupt proposal, but Cecil knew that his _tete-a-tetes_ with
Violet were always interrupted by Amber, so when he saw his darling
stealing down to the river all alone, he said to himself that he would
follow and make hay while the sun shone.

He did not think that any one had seen him going toward the house, so
he changed his course and went after Violet.

And he was just in time to catch her sorrowful, wondering exclamations
over his supposed perfidy.

He comprehended like a flash the deceitful game Amber Laurens had been
playing, and determined that sweet Violet should not doubt him a moment
longer.

So, while the summer sunset was gilding the sky and the waves with
molten gold, and the bird sang to his mate in the greenwood tree, the
blue-eyed little beauty listened, beneath the shady willows, to the
sweetest story man ever breathed to woman’s ears. The old but ever new
story of Love.

And no nobler man than Cecil Grant ever whispered the story, no fairer,
purer maiden than Violet ever listened to it with blushes of tender joy.

But the summer breeze, as it sighed through the willows, had a mournful
sound, and the river gliding by the green, flowery banks murmured low
of mystery and tragedy and sorrow.

“Cecil, I cannot marry you!” cried Violet, and she added, sadly:

“You belong to Amber. You were betrothed to her when I came home!”

He denied it with passionate vehemence:

“I admired Miss Laurens very much, but I only called on her to pass
away the time. I never spoke to her of love or marriage!”

“Then you were a wretched flirt, Cecil Grant! for your attentions
made me think you loved me, and all our friends predicted our speedy
marriage!” cried an indignant voice, and there was Amber, magnificently
beautiful in an elaborate white gown and gleaming, amber jewels.

She had watched him from her window going down to the river and
followed him, eager for an interview on this romantic spot.

And this was her reward, to hear his avowal of love for her cousin and
indifference for herself.

Oh, how cruelly her proud and loving heart was stung by the serpent of
jealousy coiling there!

She could have slain the pair of lovers, so close together there
beneath the shade of the golden willows.

And she could not repress the bitter, reproachful words with which she
startled them from their sweet love-dream.

Cecil Grant sprang to his feet, crying, eagerly:

“I beg your pardon, Miss Laurens, if I have indeed acted so imprudently
as you assert. My only excuse is that I did not think. You had many
admirers besides myself, and how could I guess that your choice had
fallen on me? I am very, very sorry. Will you forgive me?”

“Never! never!” she cried, bitterly, and with burning tears, as she
rushed away, and left him alone with his fair young love, sweet Violet.

They gazed a moment in each other’s eyes, then Cecil drew her to his
breast and held her strained in a long embrace.

“You are mine, Violet! mine forever!” he whispered, tenderly. “Never
mind Amber. She will get over her disappointment and marry another.”

But he did not know the fiery, burning heart of Amber Laurens.

She had loved him with a passion that was intensified to madness by his
loss.

And as she fled wildly back to the house, she registered a burning oath
that Cecil Grant should never find happiness with Violet Mead.

“She must give him back to me, or I shall die of despair!” she cried,
with burning tears, that almost blistered her beautiful cheeks.

She had never thought that Violet was her equal in beauty, never
believed that they could be rivals in love.

The shock of her awakening was terribly intense. Reason seemed to
totter on its throne.

She had loved sweet Violet in a careless, cousinly fashion before, but
now all her love turned to jealous hate.

Pacing the floor of her sumptuous apartment, like a beautiful, angry
tigress, she brooded over her bitter defeat, and wondered how she could
punish her cousin for the triumph she had won.

Nothing she could do to Violet seemed too cruel to satisfy her thirst
for revenge.

She would have liked to see her cousin dead in her coffin, and stand
by and hear the clods rattling harshly down upon her grave. The sound
would have been music in Amber’s ears. From a beautiful, imperious,
loving girl, she was transformed into a jealous, angry, revengeful
woman. Blighted love had changed the current of her thoughts, her
hopes, her very life. She had but one aim now. It was to sweep her
lovely rival from her path, and win Cecil Grant’s heart at last.




CHAPTER III.

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH.


Fate itself seemed to play into Amber’s hands.

Judge Camden had been away two months, leaving his granddaughters
in charge of their chaperon, a distant widowed relative, and he was
expected home that evening. Indeed, when Amber came down stairs
presently, she found that he had already arrived.

She met him fondly, not through excess of love, for the judge was a
stern old man, but because she hoped he had brought her a gift from the
great city.

“Oh, grandpapa, welcome home! I have missed you so much!” she cooed,
sweetly.

“Umph!” he grunted, ungraciously. “But where is Violet, eh?”

A sullen light gloomed in Amber’s eyes as she answered, quickly:

“She is down at the river with a young man, sir!”

“A young man! Why, what the duse----Mrs. Shirley, madame!” thumping his
cane loudly on the floor to frighten the meek little widow. “Now what
do you mean by letting that child Violet go gallivanting around with a
young man?” he cried, violently.

Mrs. Shirley cowered before his black looks and murmured, deprecatingly:

“Dear me, Judge Camden, Violet is quite seventeen years old, and old
enough to walk out with a young man, I suppose, considering that her
mother was married at sixteen.”

“Don’t throw her mother up to me, you spiteful creature! Wasn’t it
a runaway match, I want to know? And didn’t that wretch, Lieutenant
Mead, break my poor girl’s heart in two years with his dissipations?
A disgrace to the navy he was, and a good riddance when he died, I
say! And what must have become of that poor baby Violet if I hadn’t
brought her here and raised her--eh? And now, while I’m away, you let
her begin to follow in her mother’s footsteps, you careless woman! But
I’ll settle Violet’s future. She shall not elope like poor Marie! I’ve
picked out a nice husband for her myself, and she is to be married in a
month!”

“Oh, dear! oh, dear!” whimpered the simple little widow, dismayed at
this bold declaration, while Amber exclaimed, maliciously, scenting a
chance for mischief:

“But, grandpapa, Violet’s engaged already to Cecil Grant!”

Judge Camden sprang from his chair, his handsome old hazel eyes glaring
under the beetling white brows. He thundered, furiously:

“No, she isn’t, by Jupiter! She shall marry the man I’ve chosen for
her! Cecil Grant, indeed, the young jackanapes! Poor as a church mouse,
with nothing but a handsome face and a long pedigree! He’ll never get
my Violet, the fortune-hunting young scamp! Go, Amber, and tell her to
come here to me instantly!”

Amber obeyed his mandate quickly, only too glad of the chance to
separate the lovers.

When she reached the river, she found them saying good-by beneath the
willows with lingering glances and shy caresses. Violet was saying:

“You must go away now, dear Cecil, for Amber will be so angry all this
evening; and, besides, we are expecting grandpapa home from the World’s
Fair at any moment.”

“Then I shall call in the morning to ask him for my darling.”

“Oh, Cecil!” blushingly; but just then Amber appeared, exclaiming:

“Grandpapa has come already, Violet, and has sent me to call you in. He
is very impatient to see you.”

Violet flew blithely across the daisied lawn, but Amber lingered on,
eager to make up her quarrel with Cecil.

She stood in his path, so that he could not turn away from her, while
she murmured, with a gentleness that was new and strange in haughty
Amber:

“I spoke hastily just now, Cecil, and did not mean what I said. I
forgive you for your cruelty to me, and I want to be your friend, since
I cannot be your love, like Violet.”

He thought that he had never seen proud Amber so charming as now, with
those downcast eyes and that sad, resigned air, so sweet and gentle.
The humble, entreating voice melted his heart.

Besides, he did not feel himself entirely blameless.

A handsome young man has no business paying pointed attentions to a
lovely girl, unless he means to propose marriage, and Cecil knew that
he had given Madame Grundy some room for gossip.

So it pleased him to find the injured one so willing to condone his
fault and claim friendship in lieu of love.

He admired Amber very much, and carried away by her generosity, he
warmly pressed her extended hand.

“You are ill, Amber--your hand is hot and burning!” he cried, in dismay.

“No, no! I am excited, that is all! Now, Cecil, we are friends again,
are we not? And I will not try to envy Violet’s good fortune if you
will give me the second place in your heart.”

She waited for him to answer, and the murmuring river filled up the
pause. If he had understood its subtle language, it would have sounded
like a note of warning: “Beware!”

But Cecil saw no treachery in the hazel eyes that looked up to him with
such mute imploring. Touched by her generosity, he murmured:

“I pledge you my friendship, Amber, next to my love for sweet Violet;
and if you ever need a favor, claim it from me as a brother.”

“Thank you, dear, dear Cecil,” she murmured, gratefully, plaintively,
and passed out of his sight.




CHAPTER IV.

AMBER’S TRIUMPH.


“Amber, why are you watching over me? My head aches and my eyes are
dim. Have I been ill?”

Violet’s voice was very weak and low, and her eyes tried to pierce the
dim light of the shaded night-lamp, to watch Amber at the open window
in the flood of silvery moonlight.

A week had passed since Judge Camden’s return from Chicago, and ever
since the next day Violet had been dangerously ill. Indeed, this was
her first conscious hour.

“Have I been ill?” she faltered, weakly, and Amber answered, in a cold
voice:

“Yes, so ill for a week that we despaired of your life; but I suppose
you will get well now, Violet.”

“Are you sorry, Amber?” for something in the cold voice jarred on her
sensitive heart.

“What a silly idea!” and Amber laughed harshly, while Violet’s weak,
white hand went up to her brow in a bewildered way.

“Ah, Amber, everything comes back to me!” she sighed, wearily.
“Grandpapa came home and was angry with Cecil for loving me. He told my
darling we must part forever, that he had chosen a rich man to be my
husband. But I rebelled against his cruelty. I vowed I would have no
one but my dark-eyed lover, handsome Cecil Grant. Grandpapa was in a
towering rage. His eyes blazed with anger; he flew at me, and--and----”

She paused, with a terrible shudder, and Amber coolly finished the
sentence.

“That wicked old man forgot he was a gentleman, in the blind heat of
his passion at your disobedience, and struck your face with his open
hand. You reeled and fell, striking your head on the marble hearth.
Then you were unconscious for hours, and since then very ill, sometimes
raving, sometimes quiet, but never conscious until now.”

“And grandpapa, poor old man--was he sorry, Amber?”

“He has never relented for a moment, never expressed any repentance. He
has ordered your trousseau from New York; and, if you live, you will be
married in three weeks.”

“To that mysterious man he has chosen for me, Amber?”

“Yes; but do not excite yourself, Violet. It will make you worse again.
Perhaps I ought not to tell you anything more.”

She saw the wild pulsations of Violet’s heart heaving the folds of her
white gown, and knew that she had told too much already.

“But, Amber, one--word--more!” and the articulation was faint, because
her heart beat so fast and chokingly. “Oh, Amber, what of--Cecil?”

“He went away to-day.”

“Knowing that--I--was ill?”

“Why not, you silly child? He had lost you forever. Grandpapa vowed he
would disinherit you if you married him, so Cecil thought it best to
break with his dream forever. He knew you could not bear poverty.”

“He did not know me. I could have lived on a crust with Cecil,” sobbed
Violet, then plaintively: “Oh, Amber, you have seen him?”

“Violet, you will have a relapse if I tell you any more.”

“I will risk it. Only answer this, dear Amber: You have seen my
darling?”

Amber’s crimson lips curved in the silvery moonlight with a slow and
cruel smile.

“I have seen him every evening since you were sick. He sent me notes
begging me to meet him down by the river. At first it was for news of
you; then he changed. Twice he forgot to ask for you, and he seemed
to go back to the dear old days before you came, when he loved me so
dearly and entirely. Oh, Violet, you won’t mind hearing this now, for
you will soon be married to another, and then I know Cecil Grant will
come back to me cured of his fleeting fancy for you! But, Violet, why
do you laugh so wildly? Heavens! she is raving again!”

It was true. Violet was sitting upright in bed, her hair a cascade
of tumbled gold about her shoulders, her cheeks crimson, her lovely
eyes bright with fever. From her poor, parched lips poured incoherent
babblings, mixed with sad plaints of her lover’s falsity.

Amber gazed at her victim a moment with gloating eyes and stole softly
away to her own room, whispering to her guilty heart.

“She has taken a relapse, and the doctor said she would die if she did.
Well, what do I care? It would be a lucky thing for me. I would be my
grandfather’s sole heiress then, and I could win Cecil by the force of
my unbending will. Grandpapa could never frighten me to death as he did
Violet! I have a will as stubborn as his own, and I would cajole him
into consent some way.”

Mrs. Shirley was lying down to rest for a short time, and Amber knew
that the raving girl would be all alone. A thought came to her that
perhaps in her delirium she might dash herself out of the open window
down to instant death.

But she did not go back to the sick-room. She sat down to refresh
herself with some white grapes the maid had brought to her room. She
was consumed with curiosity over the man that Judge Camden had chosen
for Violet’s husband.

“He says that he is as rich as the Vanderbilts, and that he has a
palace in Chicago fit for a king. Violet could live like a queen and be
covered with diamonds if she chose, but she prefers Cecil Grant’s love
with a crust. So do I, alas, although riches would not go amiss, even
with the man one loves,” sighing heavily.

But if everything went as she hoped, Amber would have all that she most
desired--wealth and the love of the man for whom she was willing to
risk her immortal soul.




CHAPTER V.

THE BRIDE OF DEATH.


Meanwhile Violet had risen from her white couch, strong with the force
of fever, and stolen, unnoticed, from the room and the house.

Her poor brain, crazed with the news of her lover’s falsity, had
conceived a dreadful plan.

She would seek the spot by the river where Cecil had uttered those
sweet, sweet vows of love that he had so quickly broken, and cast
herself into the darkling waves, that would hide her forever from the
bitterness of her sorrow.

“The bride of death!” she murmured, and sped with tender, bare, white
feet, across the daisied lawn.

It was the last night of summer, and the first faint chill of
approaching autumn was already in the night air. But the full moon
poured a flood of radiant white light over the beautiful country
landscape, and the dew, glittering on the grass and flowers, made the
world look like fairyland.

Cecil Grant had not gone away as he had told Amber. His heart failed
him at the last moment. He had heard in the village that Violet was
dying, and he could not tear himself away, although he dared not
venture up to the great house, for fear of a scene with the irascible
old man, who had been so cruel to him and Violet.

He sought the river-bank, where he had been so happy with his darling,
where he had clasped the lissom form in his arms and kissed the sweet,
rosy lips.

He remembered how her heart had throbbed against his own, how she had
trembled with exquisite joy.

What bright hopes they had cherished! What dreams they had dreamed of
wedded bliss! Dreams that faded so soon, for, torn apart from each
other, his own heart was breaking, and Violet was dying.

Alone beside the mystic river, whose low voice seemed to be singing her
dirge, he watched with anguished eyes the dimly lighted window of the
room where his beautiful young love lay dying.

In his tortured brain throbbed echoes of sad verses somewhere read----

  “From the altar a myriad tapers down shone,
  But they fell on a face and a bosom like stone;
        They gleamed in the hair,
        But no bride vail was there--
  Their quaver and glow could not wake her, my Clare!

  “The organ wept softly a wail for the dead,
    And the low sound of sobbing kept time to the strain,
  While afar to the Future its echoings fled,
    To bring back that hour and its desolate pain;
  And apart in a spot where the light could not shine,
  I knelt in the gloom that henceforward is mine,
        As she lay over there,
        With no thought and no care,
  And she was to have stood there, my bride, my Clare!”

He looked across the lawn to her window, his heart aching to stand by
her side, to pillow her dying head on his throbbing breast.

“Dying, and I not there!” he groaned. “Dying, perhaps already dead!”

Suddenly he gave a start of superstitious terror and awe.

Across the grassy lawn a white form was gliding toward him so close
that he could see the floating lengths of shining, golden hair, the
pale, lovely face, the gleaming eyes, the thin, white gown, and the
tiny, bare feet so pearly-white and fair.

“It is Violet!” he moaned. “My darling is dead, and her wraith has
flown to her lonely lover to breathe a last farewell!”

She flew past him, as with a rush of wings, and hovered over the river,
shrieking, wildly:

“The bride of death!”




CHAPTER VI.

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN FALSE TO YOU, EVEN IN THE MOST SECRET THOUGHT.”


It was the most thrilling moment of Cecil Grant’s life.

In one anguished instant he comprehended that it was no spirit he gazed
upon, but Violet Mead herself, crazed by her illness, escaped from her
watchers and about to end her sorrows in the deep and rushing river.

With a lightning bound, he flew to the rescue, a cry of terror on his
blanched lips, his arms outstretched toward the flying figure, already
making the fatal spring, hovering in mid-air, her white garments and
golden curls fluttering in the chilly breeze that swayed the willows on
the bank.

The silvery moon never shone on a face more deadly pale and anguished
than Cecil Grant’s as he realized that a plunge in the cold waters of
the river would be fatal to the life of the feverish girl. Already she
was at the point of death, and the shock of the immersion would surely
extinguish the last feeble flickering spark of her young life.

All in an instant these thoughts rushed over him, blent with a silent
prayer to God for help in this hour of deadly peril to his darling.

It seemed to him afterward that surely Heaven, in its divine pity,
had lent him wings, or he never could have cleared so quickly the
intervening space between him and Violet.

But joy! joy! his outstretched hands clutched the hem of her white
robes, and he made a fierce spring, drawing her with him back from the
arms of death. In the rapidity of the recoil both fell upon the soft
grass.

“Saved! saved!” the young man almost shouted in his delirious joy,
and he sprang quickly erect, stripping off his coat to wrap it about
Violet’s thinly clad and shivering form.

He raised the golden head upon his arm, cuddling the bare little feet
tenderly against his body to protect them from the chilly air, and
murmured, tenderly, anxiously:

“Violet! Sweet Violet!”

The large, blue eyes of the poor girl flared wide open, and looked up
at him in wild reproach.

“Ah, Cecil! cruel Cecil! you should have let me die!” she moaned,
piteously. “You are false to me, and I cannot bear my life!”

Cecil believed that the complaint arose from her fevered mind, and,
bending down, he kissed her pale lips with adoring love, then whispered:

“That is only a fancy of your sickness, my own little darling! I love
you better than life itself, and I have never been false to you, even
in the most secret thought. Why, I have been almost crazed over your
sickness! Has not Amber told you how I waited here each night with fond
impatience for her to come, and tell me how you were getting on?”

Sweet Violet turned herself feebly on his arm and scanned his earnest
face with eager, questioning blue eyes, and his heart ached to feel
how light and frail her form had grown with the cruel sickness. With a
choking sob in her throat, she cried:

“Amber told me to-night that you loved me no longer--that your heart
had turned to her again! Oh, Cecil, it almost killed me to hear that
you were false and fickle. When Amber left me alone in the room, I
stole away to end my sorrows in the river, here by the bending willows,
where you first said you loved me.”

He wondered if Amber had indeed been so false and deceitful as Violet
declared, and, holding her tightly in his arms, as though to defend her
from death itself, he told her that she had been wickedly deceived,
that Amber was false and perjured.

“She knows well how fondly I love you,” he cried, indignantly. “I told
her of my love and anxiety every evening when she came to bring me news
of you, pretending to be my sincere friend. But I will never trust
her again. As for you, my own sweet love, I must take you back to the
house again; but before we go, you must tell me that you doubt me no
longer--that you will never lose faith in your own true love again. Let
me put this little ring on your finger, precious. It is an opal, and is
gifted with the power to show whether plighted lovers keep their faith.
If false, the gem will grow dull and lifeless, its brightness all gone;
but, if true, it will glow with the fiery hues of the furnace. Wear it
always, my darling, and let it be the test of my love till the happy
day that unites us forever.”

“Alas,” she sighed, “do you not know, dear Cecil, that my grandfather
has sworn I shall wed another?”

He kissed the little hand on which he had placed the ring, and
answered, fondly:

“Yes; Amber Laurens told me that, Violet; but I was not discouraged,
for they cannot force you into a marriage against your will. Only get
well and be true to me, my pet, and we will defy the old tyrant, will
we not, my bonny bride?”

She clung to him with a murmur of such infinite love and content that
he longed to take her in his arms and fly away with her to some great
stronghold, where he could defy the grim old judge’s authority, even
now; but he knew that it could not be, that every moment out here in
the chilly night air made it more certain that she would have a relapse
of her illness. He must carry her back to her sick-bed, to those who
had cared for her so carelessly as to make this dreadful escapade
possible.

But he resolved to rebuke them in scathing terms for their neglect of
duty.

With an aching heart he took Violet up in his arms, holding her easily,
as if she had been a child, and so carried her back to Golden Willows
and the stern old judge, who was raising a terrible storm outdoors,
seeking for Violet, whom Mrs. Shirley had but just now missed from her
bed.

The hue and cry of search had just begun, and Amber was the center of
a group who listened eagerly as she vehemently reiterated that she had
left Violet only a moment to get her a fresh drink, and, on returning,
found the invalid gone and Mrs. Shirley alone in the room.

Her tale was so plausible that no one doubted it, for who could believe
that Amber cherished a secret hatred for her sick cousin and had
tortured her almost to madness, then left her to suffer alone?

So the mystery of Violet’s strange disappearance began to deepen, and
Judge Camden was sending servants in all directions to search for her,
when Cecil Grant came slowly up the moonlighted path across the lawn,
with the missing girl in his arms.

They ran to meet him with cries of joy; even the stern old judge was
excited; only Amber held back, filled with terrible dismay at this
unlooked-for _contretemps_.

She had believed that Cecil Grant was many miles away from Golden
Willows. Why had he returned, and what was he doing here, with Violet
clasped in his arms so fondly that it made her heart throb with a
cruel, jealous pain.

The young man paused before Judge Camden, and said, coldly:

“Sir, I have the pleasure of restoring to you your granddaughter, whom
I have just saved from throwing herself into the river.”

A confused murmur of surprise from all made him raise his voice, as he
continued, with indignant emphasis:

“No sick person should be left alone as Violet was, for there is no
telling what a fever-distraught brain may rashly prompt an invalid to
do; and, sir, if you loved this dear girl as entirely as I do, you
would guard her more carefully.”

Judge Camden was so dazed that he made no move to take Violet from
Cecil’s arms; he could only stare at him in boundless amazement.

Amber was almost choking with rage.

“So the girl was about to drown herself? I wish she had succeeded, I
do, from my heart,” she thought, bitterly.

But assuming a charming smile, she advanced into the group and said,
gently:

“Dear Cecil, do not blame poor grandpapa, for, really, I am the only
one in fault. I was staying with Violet while Mrs. Shirley went to take
a nap, and the poor feverish girl asked me for a drink of ice-water. I
went down the hall to get it, and while I was out she stole away. That
is all.”

She told the tale complacently, not dreaming that the sick girl had
betrayed her; but the next moment she shrank and trembled, for Cecil
turned on her with scathing reproaches.

“No, that is not all, Miss Laurens; for, before you left poor Violet,
you told her some cruel falsehoods--that I was false to my love for
her, and had offered my heart to you. It was that which drove my poor
girl frantic, and sent her to end her sweet life in the river. But,
thank Heaven, I was at hand and snatched her back, even as she made
the fatal leap. I will never forgive you, Miss Laurens, for your
wickedness.”

She cowered beneath his lightning glance of scorn, and Judge Camden,
beginning to recover his wits, advanced and took Violet, saying, with
cool courtesy:

“I am deeply grateful to you for saving Violet’s life, and trust I may
be able to repay the debt some future day.”

To his wrath and amazement, Cecil replied, with a manly, respectful air:

“Violet and I are deeply in love with each other, Judge Camden, and I
ask you to give her to me as my cherished wife!”

“Never!” thundered the stern old man, striding angrily away with
Violet.




CHAPTER VII.

“HOW CAN I BEAR TO BE PARTED SO CRUELLY FROM MY DARLING?”


They carried Violet back to her bed, and Mrs. Shirley did everything
possible to counteract the effects of her terrible excitement and
exposure.

As soon as Cecil’s back was turned, Amber vehemently declared her
innocence of his charges, vowing that Violet had fancied it all in her
delirium.

No one contradicted her, for in their alarm over Violet, they scarcely
listened to her words.

But that brief interview with Cecil, and the sweet assurance of his
fidelity, had been more potent for good in Violet’s case than medicine.
She yielded meekly to all Mrs. Shirley’s ministrations, and at last
sank into a sweet and saving sleep that lasted until morning.

And, in spite of Amber’s secret prayers that she would die, the invalid
began to convalesce slowly but surely, so that, by the middle of
September, she could sit by the window in her easy-chair, and look out
at the winding river and the wooded hills, whose dark green began to
change to the crimson and gold of autumn.

Amber had been very shy of the sick-room after that night, when Cecil
had foiled her clever scheme, but one bright morning she came into the
room, determined to brave it out.

Violet was in her chair at the open window, and the sunshine came
into the pretty blue and white room and beamed lovingly on its fair,
golden-haired mistress in her soft, white cashmere wrapper, with its
cascades of misty lace.

It did not touch Amber’s cruel heart in the least to see how frail and
flower-like her rival looked. She was inwardly sorry that she had not
died.

“Good-morning, Violet,” she said, coolly, sinking into a chair. “So you
are in your right mind again, and can realize what a cruel wrong you
did me that night?”

“Wrong!” echoed Violet, in surprise.

“Yes, in what you told Cecil Grant about me. I did not say he was false
to you. You either dreamed it all, or imagined it in your delirium, for
you were always crying out that Cecil loved Amber best, and that you
did not want to live.”

“I do not remember any such fancies,” Violet answered, with incredulous
blue eyes.

“Of course not, for people never remember the ravings of fever. But you
fancied it all, Violet, for I never mentioned Cecil to you that night;
and you did me a cruel wrong in telling Cecil that I did. He was my
friend before, but you turned him against me by your cruel story.”

Her assurance staggered Violet’s belief in her own memory.

She had been so ill, she had suffered so much, that her brain was
still a little dazed and uncertain. Was it possible she had dreamed it
all--that Amber was not cruel and wicked, as she seemed?

Amber saw the doubt in the sweet, lovely face, and hastened to add:

“You see now that you were wrong, Violet.”

“Was I, Amber? Then I am very, very sorry. Will you forgive me?”
sweetly.

“Willingly, child; for no one can be angry with a sick person’s
vagaries,” Amber answered, with a condescending air.

Violet sighed softly and continued:

“When I see Cecil again, I will tell him that perhaps I was wrong in my
accusation against you, Amber, for I was so ill and my mind so dazed
that perhaps I distorted the truth.”

“Alas, Violet, I fear you will never see Cecil again, for grandpapa
swears you shall not, and is hurrying up the preparations for your
marriage with the man he has chosen for you.”

To her chagrin, Violet answered, firmly:

“Grandpapa is only wasting his time. I will never marry any man but my
own dear Cecil.”

“Ah, Violet, how can you help yourself? Grandpapa’s will is law to
us. We must obey him, for we owe him everything!” exclaimed Amber,
craftily, advising the obedience she would not have yielded herself.

But Violet’s pale cheeks warmed rosily, and a flash of resentment
brightened her languid eyes as she cried:

“I owe grandpapa obedience in everything but the sacrifice of my whole
life, Amber. Why, it would be a wicked sin to marry another man, with
my heart full of Cecil.”

“But the ‘other man’ is a millionaire, Violet, and Cecil is poor, with
only an old name and some ancestral property, that he has no money to
keep up properly.”

“I do not care about the money. I could be happy with Cecil in a cabin!”

“Poor Violet! And yet, as surely as you live, grandpapa will make you
marry the other man!”

“Never!” cried Violet, with heaving bosom and flashing eyes. “No man
but Cecil Grant shall ever call me wife. Grandpapa might force me to
the altar with this hated stranger, but I should take poison and fall
down dead at his feet before his ring was on my hand, like the heroine
of Ralph Washburn Chainey’s beautiful poem, ‘A Broken Marriage.’”

“What did she do?” inquired Amber, who had not read the verses.

“Let me read the lines for you,” Violet answered, taking up a magazine
from the onyx table by her side. She opened it and began to read aloud,
in a low voice, freighted with the fullness of a sorrowful heart:


A BROKEN MARRIAGE.

  “Stop the service! Still the singing!
    Smile no more, but bow the head!
  For the bride, so young and winning,
    Lies before the chancel, dead.

  “Marriage kisses change to partings;
    Tear aside the bridal vail;
  That golden band has rent her heart-strings;
    ’Stead of laughter comes a wail.

  “No more want of marriage splendor,
    Death has ta’en the place of pain;
  No more need of bridal favor,
    Love doth call on love in vain.

  “Paler than the snow she lies--
    Colder than the winter morning!
  Oh, why did she so despise
    Love’s devotion and God’s warning?

  “She who swore to wed no other,
    At the altar kept her vow;
  When they tore her from her lover,
    Made her to proud Mammon bow.

  “Close the stately bridal chamber--
    Ye may now those flowers save;
  For the rose that scents her chamber
    May perfume her new-made grave.

  “Now the wedding march may be
    A low requiem for the dead;
  And arms that fain would bridge death’s sea
    May seal the tomb that’s o’er her head.”

Even Amber’s cruel heart was touched by the sad words and the pathetic
voice, and she said, in a softer voice:

“Poor young bride! it was very sad.”

“Yes, but it was better to die than marry one she could not love,”
Violet answered, very seriously, and Amber began to comprehend that
Judge Camden would have some trouble in enforcing his authority. What
if Violet should carry out her threat of suicide? A shudder ran over
her as she pictured in her mind the scene of bridal pageantry, the
flower-draped altar, the joyous music, and Violet dead before the altar
in her bridal robes.

After a moment’s thought, she said, consolingly:

“Cheer up, Violet, for grandpapa’s mysterious choice may be as young
and handsome as Cecil himself.”

“Oh, do not talk to me of that man, Amber, but tell me, instead,
something of Cecil. Oh, my heart aches for news of my darling! Tell me,
have you seen him since that night?”

“No, Violet, I have not seen him; but he has not gone away, I know, for
he has sent you several letters and bouquets since that night.”

“Oh, Amber, why were they not given to me?”

“Grandpapa sent them back with angry messages.”

“Oh, it is a wicked shame! Grandpapa had no right!” sobbed Violet.

“Of course not, but he is like the robber barons of old. He believes
that might makes right,” laughed Amber.

“Oh, Heaven! how cruel he is! How can I bear to be parted like this
from my darling? The end of it will be that I shall elope, as my poor
mother did before me!” wept Violet, hiding her tearful face in her
little white hands.

Amber caught the gleam of a glowing jewel that hung loosely yet on
Violet’s wasted finger, and she cried out, sharply:

“Did Cecil give you that opal for an engagement ring?”

“Yes,” sobbed Violet, and added: “He told me the gem would remain
bright as long as he was true to me, but if false, would grow dull and
lifeless. Is not that a pretty fancy, Amber?”

“Pretty enough, but I would not wear an opal ring for anything on
earth! It is a very unlucky stone, and is said to bring misfortune to
the wearer. I wonder that Cecil gave it to you; but then, I suppose he
was too poor to buy you a new one and made this do,” sneered Amber,
adding, after a moment’s thought: “I remember to have heard that the
Grants had an old opal ring in the family with a very curious history.
I will try and get the particulars and tell you all about them some
time, Violet. There are always strange stories in old families like
Cecil’s, you know. But now I must go and dress for my morning drive, so
_au revoir_.”




CHAPTER VIII.

“HEAVEN’S BLESSING COULD NOT FALL ON SUCH A MARRIAGE.”


Amber had been gone but a moment when Judge Camden entered the room.

He frowned darkly when he saw how Violet’s lips were quivering, and how
the tears were stealing down her pale cheeks.

“I met Amber coming out. What has she said to cause those tears?” he
asked, curtly.

Violet answered, heart-brokenly:

“She has been telling me of the letters and flowers dear Cecil sent me
while I was sick and which you returned to him with unkind messages.”

“Tut, tut! Amber is a wretched little tell-tale, but I don’t care,
Violet, for the sooner you realize that you can never have Cecil Grant,
the better for all concerned!”

Violet did not answer a word. She remembered shudderingly the cruel
blow he had struck her before, and which had caused her almost fatal
illness. She could only listen in despairing silence while the judge
continued, sternly:

“I hope you will listen peaceably to what I have come to say this
morning.”

She bowed her golden head in silent acquiescence, but saying to herself
that, no matter what he should say, she would die before she would
marry any one but her darling Cecil.

“You know, Violet, that you owe me the obedience of a daughter. I have
cared for you all your life, and but for me you would have had a hard
life enough among those beggarly Meads, your father’s relations.”

“Grandpapa, I am very grateful for your kindness, indeed I am; but I
must insist that you will not speak so contemptuously of my father’s
people,” interposed Violet, with a sweet and gentle dignity.

“And why not, sauce-box? Your father was a scamp, no doubt of that.
Besides, didn’t I tell you to listen quietly, and not answer me back?”

Violet sighed and relapsed into silence, though her cheeks burned with
anger at the insulting mention of her dead father. She knew that his
blind prejudice against the young soldier, who had run off with his
youngest daughter, made him exaggerate all his faults.

“Well, as I was saying to you that night, my girl, your mother
disappointed all my hopes; but I swear that you shall not. I’ve picked
out a rich husband for you, and I want you to accept my choice like a
good girl,” cajolingly. “Why, almost any girl would jump at the chance
of such a husband--young, rich, and loving!”

“But, grandpapa, I have never even seen him. How can he love me?”

“He has seen you, although he didn’t tell me where, and he thinks you
are the rarest beauty in the world--just worships the ground you walk
on! He will settle a fortune on you the day that you marry him. Violet,
think of that, my dear!”

She shuddered with disgust, and cried out, tremblingly:

“I cannot sell myself for gold.”

And suddenly she fell at his feet and lifted her imploring blue eyes to
his face.

“Oh, do let me speak to you one moment,” she cried. “It is a wicked
thing you urge me to do, grandpapa, to marry one man while my heart is
full of love for another. The blessings of Heaven could not fall on
such a sinful marriage.”

“Get up, Violet, do. I never had any taste for private theatricals, and
I am disgusted at your lack of good sense in refusing this splendid
offer.”

“But my heart was already given to another, you know,” tremblingly.
“But,” with sudden propitiatory eagerness, “there’s Amber, you
know--she’s not engaged. Perhaps she would take him, and you would
still have him in the family, you know.”

“He wouldn’t look at Amber. It’s you he worships! And let me tell you,
miss, he’s far handsomer than your vaunted Cecil Grant. Here’s his
photograph which he gave me for you. Look! did you ever see such a man
as that?”

He held up a cabinet picture before her eyes, and Violet looked at it
with some girlish curiosity over her unknown admirer.

It represented a very dark and very handsome man of about twenty-five
years. There was no denying that in looks he compared very favorably
with Cecil Grant’s manly beauty.

But no sooner did Violet catch a glimpse of the picture than her face
began to change from pale to crimson and back again, while her blue
eyes glowed with disdain and anger. Drawing back, with a shudder of
repulsion, she cried out, scornfully:

“That wretch! That villain! That monster in human form! To dare to
offer me his guilty, blood-stained hand! Oh, heavens!”

Judge Camden was so startled by her agitation that he sprang to his
feet and demanded, hoarsely:

“Now what the duse do you mean, girl, by calling Harold Castello such
outrageous names? Do you know him? Have you ever seen him?”

Violet looked like one who had received some terrible shock.

She lay back in her chair, gasping for utterance, her face the hue of
death, her eyes glaring as though she beheld some hideous specter.

Judge Camden shook her roughly by the shoulder, exclaiming:

“What, in the name of all that’s evil, is the matter with you, girl?
Here I show you the picture of a very good-looking young man, and
you shriek out as if you had seen a Medusa! When I ask you a civil
question, you won’t answer, but fall back in your chair and pretend to
be fainting! Now what is the cause of all this? I demand an answer! Do
you know Harold Castello? Have you ever seen him? And if you have, why
did you abuse him in such awful terms?”




CHAPTER IX.

THAT FATAL SECRET.


He stood waiting for an answer, his hand clutching her shoulder with a
violence of which he was not himself aware, until she cried out with
the pain.

“Oh, you hurt me!”

He loosened his angry grasp and said, impatiently:

“Well, answer my question, then. What did you mean just now?”

“What have I said? What have I done?” she moaned, lifting up her heavy
head and awfully blanched face.

“You have not forgotten?” he cried, incredulously.

She put her hand to her brow, shuddering.

“I have had some kind of a strange turn, but I think you asked me if I
knew some one. Was it Harold Castello?”

“Yes--do you?”

“No, grandpapa, I have never heard that name in my life!” shuddered
Violet.

“Then why did you call him such vile names--wretch, villain, monster,
murderer, thief, perhaps, as I can scarcely remember all your choice
epithets?” sarcastically.

“Did I say all that?” murmured Violet, in a sort of dismay. Then she
caught her breath and said, more naturally: “It is not strange that I
called him names, is it? I hate him, you know, because you are trying
to force him on me for a husband.”

“You need not pour out a whole flood of billingsgate on a gentleman
because he does you the honor to offer you his hand.”

“The honor? Oh, Heaven!” cried Violet, in deep disgust.

“Yes, the honor,” repeated Judge Camden, angrily. “Why, you can reign
like a queen in that palace of his on beautiful Prairie avenue.”

“I would not cross its threshold for wealth untold!” she cried,
obdurately.

“You mean to refuse his hand, then--to disobey my commands?”

“You may kill me if you choose, grandpapa, but you cannot coerce me
into marrying that man!”

Her eyes blazed into his, blue and defiant, but he restrained his
impulse to strike her again and said, angrily:

“Perhaps you think you will elope with Cecil Grant, and disgrace me as
your mother did.”

Her cheek crimsoned, but she answered, in a softened tone:

“There would be no disgrace in marrying Cecil. He is noble, and good,
and true.”

“And poor as poverty,” he sneered.

“There are worse things than poverty!” she answered, proudly, then
dropped her face in her hands and burst into tears. The strain was
growing too much for her weak nerves.

But her tears only irritated the hard old man.

“You may cry, or you may laugh, but it will not alter your fate in the
least,” he growled. “I have promised Harold Castello that you will
marry him in a week, and you shall do it. Dare to defy me further, or
to refuse obedience to my will, and I will punish you, even if you are
in Cecil Grant’s very arms!”

“Would that I were!” she moaned, in terror, and, with a stifled
imprecation, he left the room.

The strength of a desperate terror came to Violet when she was left
alone. She walked up and down the room, wringing her little hands in
despair, sobbing under her breath:

“I understand all now. I know why that fiend would force me into an
abhorred marriage with himself! Oh, that fatal secret! that fatal
secret! Why did it ever become mine? How shall I save myself when that
doting old man, who ought to protect me, is leagued with my enemy to
wreck my life? Amid all this luxury, I am friendless. Oh, Cecil, Cecil!
if I could only see you for one short hour!”




CHAPTER X.

“LOVE’S SEAL IS SET UPON ME.”


Although Judge Camden was very proud of the offer he had received
for Violet’s hand, he might not have insisted upon its acceptance so
strongly had he not been determined to thwart her marriage to Cecil
Grant.

The judge had a secret spite against Cecil’s mother that influenced him
in rejecting the young man’s suit for Violet.

Mrs. Grant was a handsome widow, the descendant of a very aristocratic
race, but impoverished by the war between the States, and struggling
under a load of debt and worry. The ancestral estates were almost
hopelessly mortgaged, and her only son, Cecil, a newly fledged lawyer,
was barely able to keep up the interest and maintain his mother in
simple style from his earnings and the small revenue from the stock and
lands.

Judge Camden was a self-made man, very rich, and with the arrogant
pride peculiar to that class of people. He fell in love with his
neighbor, the poor, proud, but charming widow, and offered her his hand.

His proposal was politely, gently, but firmly rejected, and the old
judge never forgave her for the slight.

He continued to cherish a secret anger against the lady, and his
resentment included her son, then a young collegian.

When Cecil came home and opened his modest law-office in the village,
he secretly did everything he could against the progress of the
struggling young attorney, and delighted in all his misfortunes.

Now that Cecil had become a suitor for Violet’s hand, the old judge saw
in it an opportunity to wreak vengeance on the son’s heart for all the
pangs his mother had inflicted on his, and he was not slow to avail
himself of the occasion.

No pity for the young hearts thus cruelly severed moved him from his
stern resolve to force Violet, by fair or foul means, into a speedy
marriage with Harold Castello.

When Mrs. Grant learned of the old judge’s refusal to sanction Cecil’s
engagement to Violet, she was very indignant, and desired her son to
break off the affair at once.

“I cannot bear to have my son called a fortune-hunter,” she cried,
proudly, for some gossip had made her acquainted with the old judge’s
insinuations.

Cecil flushed deeply as he answered:

“No one can call me so, mother, for Violet Mead is as poor as I am.”

“Yes, but it is expected that she and her cousin Amber will divide
their grandfather’s fortune between them at his death.”

“That is, if they marry to please him, of course; otherwise he will
disinherit them. So sweet Violet’s fate is already sealed, for she has
promised to be my bride as soon as I am a little better off.”

“Oh, my son, how can you dream of taking bonny Violet away from her
luxurious home at Golden Willows to live in such an old rack-rent
castle as this?” demanded Mrs. Grant, in sorrowful dismay.

“We love each other, mother dear, and Violet vows that she will not
mind my poverty,” he replied, gently.

“She is a child, and does not know anything about the stern realities
of poverty and want. You had much better break off the engagement and
leave Violet free for her rich suitor, or you might both repent your
marriage when too late. And, to be frank, Cecil--I am not mercenary,
but I have always hoped you would marry money, so as to pay off the
mortgage and save your ancestral estates.”

“You should have thought of that yourself, mother, when you refused
Judge Camden’s hand,” her son replied, demurely.

She flushed with surprise and exclaimed:

“You are guessing wildly, my dear Cecil.”

“No, mother, I am not. Do you think I do not understand that old man’s
persecution of me? It is only an ignoble spite against the woman who
would not marry him.”

“I believe you are right, dear,” she acknowledged, sadly; “I know that
a marriage with him would have given us both many advantages we do not
now possess. Are you angry because I rejected him?”

“No, mother, no! How could that hard, pompous old man have taken my
noble father’s place in your heart? Not for the world would I have
had you sacrifice yourself thus. But do not let your dislike of him
prejudice you against my gentle Violet.”

Mrs. Grant gave him a fond, motherly smile, as she answered, kindly:

“Violet is a charming girl. I have loved her from childhood, but I
cannot encourage your desire to marry her against her grandfather’s
consent. He is so vindictive that nothing but trouble and sorrow could
come of defiance to his will.”

She believed what she said, and had her son’s best interest at heart in
thus advising him, but he turned away sighing, because he had received
no encouragement.

All the opposing fates seemed to be leagued against him and Violet.

It was cruel, for they loved so truly that Heaven must have made them
for each other--he so dark, and strong, and handsome, Violet so fair,
and slight, and lovely.

It was very foolish that an old man’s malice over his thwarted love
affair should have come between such fond and loving hearts.

Cecil wandered wretchedly along the river-bank, thinking of his
darling, and planning all sorts of things for overthrowing the barriers
that held them apart. He would have proposed an elopement, but he
hesitated on account of his poverty. He would rather have waited until
his prospects brightened so that he could give his fair bride something
of the luxury to which she was accustomed at Golden Willows.

Here at Bonnycastle, his own home, the stately rooms were all out of
repair, the fine oaken furniture was old and gloomy; the carpets worn
and dingy; while outside the stone towers, in which his old English
ancestor had gloried, were overgrown with ivy, in which owls screeched
dismally by night and nestling birds sang by day.

It was little better than a picturesque ruin, although people said that
it had been the finest place in the county, and would be again, if the
owner could only afford to repair it and restore the ruined lawns and
gardens with their rank growths to order and beauty again.

That was a dream that poor Cecil had dreamed from boyhood, but it
seemed farther away from realization than ever now, as he thought of
Violet and the fate her grandfather menaced her with--the marriage to
an unknown wealthy suitor.

Everything looked very dark and hopeless, but he could not entertain,
for one moment, his mother’s advice to give up Violet.

“She cannot dream how truly I love my darling, or she would know that
the loss of her would wreck my life,” he thought. “Since I first met
Violet the whole world has grown brighter and more joyful. I have
seemed to live more fully, to rest more sweetly. I can never put her
out of my heart, nor relinquish the hope of one day calling her mine,”
and he recalled some sweet, tender lines, somewhere read, that seemed
to image his own feelings:

      “Forget thee, dear?
  God knows how in the silence of the night,
    Forgetful how tired I am,
    I think of thee till, like a soothing balm,
  Sleep, drooping on my lids, puts thought to flight.

      “Forget thee, dear?
  God knows I have no longer any choice!
    Love’s seal is set upon me, nor can I,
    With placid beating heart, again deny
  The mastery and magic of thy voice.

      “Forget thee, dear?
  God knows I would not if I could;
    For sweeter far has been to me the pain
    Of love unsatisfied than all the vain
  And ill-spent years I lived before we met.

      “Forget thee, dear?
  God knows if I were lying dead to-day,
    To ashes turned in a forgotten grave,
    And to my dust he mercifully gave
  The power to speak one word, thy name I’d say.”

The sound of light wheels startled him from his sorrowful reverie,
and, looking quickly up, he saw that he had wandered from the
river-path to the open road, and, in a natty little phaeton rolling
along the smooth gravel sat Amber Laurens, superbly attired, and
handling the ribbons with consummate skill.

Cecil tried to retreat to the shade of some trees by the road, but he
was too late. The beauty had seen him, and she chirped to her little
gray pony to stop.

Then she called, airily:

“If you hide from me, Mr. Grant, you will miss the message I have for
you from Violet.”

These words brought him quickly to the side of the phaeton, where
he bowed to her, stiffly, for it was their first meeting since the
night he had saved Violet from the river, and his heart was hot with
resentment over her treachery.

“You have a message for me from Violet?” he cried, eagerly. “Please
tell it to me quickly, for my heart is almost broken with suspense over
my poor, ill-treated, suffering girl.”




CHAPTER XI.

AMBER’S FRIENDSHIP.


She could have slain him for the tenderness of his words and tone, but
she only smiled blandly.

“You received my note, Cecil?”

“Yes,” and he frowned impatiently, for it was a weak attempt to deny
what Violet had told him that night.

“But you never answered it,” reproachfully.

“I did not think it necessary,” he replied, coldly.

“You did not credit my denial?” sadly.

“Pray pardon me from discussing it with you,” Cecil rejoined, in icy
tones, and she flushed with wounded pride.

“Oh, how cruelly I am misunderstood!” she exclaimed. “Listen, Cecil.
Only this morning Violet admitted to me that what she told you that
night was only a vision of her delirious brain, and begged my pardon
for the wrong I did her. She is deeply grieved over it, and said that
as soon as she saw you she would vindicate my truthfulness to you.”

Cecil turned a keen glance on the dark, sparkling face, and it looked
so frank and earnest and truthful, that he did not know how to doubt
her statement.

“Oh, please believe me,” cried Amber, with sweet solicitude. “Indeed I
am your true friend, Cecil, and Violet’s, too--alas, the only friend
you have, for every one at Golden Willows is against you, and if you do
not trust me with your letters to her, I do not know how you are ever
to communicate with her at all.”

“Will you drive with me a little way, as my pony is restless and will
not stop longer,” she added, sweetly.

He assented, and they drove slowly along the road in the sweet
September afternoon.

“Will not Violet come out to drive soon? Surely it would do her good,”
he exclaimed.

“Yes, but grandpapa will not permit it. He is afraid she will elope
with you, Cecil, and he will not allow her to leave the house until
she goes as the bride of the man he has chosen for her to marry in a
week, Harold Castello, a rich young man of Chicago, who has seen Violet
somewhere and become enamored of her beauty. Grandpapa met him in
Chicago, and he proposed for her hand.”

“But good heavens, Amber, this old man cannot force Violet to marry
against her will!”

“He is trying to do so and using every means in his power to bend her
to his will. Oh, I am so sorry for you and Violet!” cried Amber, with
a sympathetic glance that touched his heart and made him repent his
harshness of a while ago.

“Thank you,” he said, heartily. “Forgive me, Amber, if I have wronged
you. I cannot afford to lose a single friend now. And will you indeed
be so good as to carry letters for us, since it is impossible for me to
meet my darling yet?”

“I will carry letters for you every day, and bring Violet’s replies to
you,” declared Amber, with every appearance of sincerity.

“A thousand thanks,” he cried, gratefully.

“I am glad to serve you,” she answered, gently; then, with a low,
tremulous sigh, “are we friends again, Cecil?”

“The best of friends,” he replied, cordially, and pressed the hand she
extended with a gentle warmth, without noticing how the rich color flew
to her olive cheek and the light to her large hazel eyes. In fact he
had almost forgotten, in his trouble over Violet, that Amber had once
loved him, and been angry because his choice had fallen on her fair
cousin. He accepted frankly her profession of friendship.

“Now I must beg you to set me down at my office door, and I will at
once write Violet a letter, so that I can have it ready when you go
back from your drive, if you will be so kind,” he said, and Amber
assented very readily to his wish.

Accordingly, within the hour, the light phaeton stopped at the corner,
and Cecil brought out a letter for Violet.

“I will bring you an answer to-morrow morning, and perhaps we can yet
outwit grandpapa and Harold Castello,” declared Amber, archly, and
drove away, after giving him an entrancing smile, and a glance that was
almost too fond for friendship.




CHAPTER XII.

CUPID’S POSTMAN.


Amber did not intend to break faith with Cecil in the promise she had
made.

She carried his fond love-letter to Violet that evening.

But she had taken it to her own room first, carefully extracted it from
the envelope, and read every word.

Her dark cheek paled with anger, her heart throbbed with jealous pain
at the words of love that Cecil had written to his darling.

“How I hate her for this!” she cried, bitterly. “How I would like to
wring her heart as she has done mine!”

And the dark flash of her eye boded no good to her innocent rival.

She replaced the letter so carefully in its envelope that no one would
have guessed the seal had been tampered with, and carried it to Violet.

“I have brought you a treasure--a letter from Cecil,” she exclaimed,
gayly.

How the blue eyes sparkled, how the cheeks flushed with joy as Violet
caught the letter and pressed it to her warm lips, murmuring:

“My darling!”

She tore it open and read it eagerly through twice, then looked up at
Amber, her eyes shining through happy tears.

“Oh, how can I thank you, dear Amber?” she cried, gratefully.

“By believing that I am your true friend,” replied the crafty girl.

“Oh, I know now; I am sure of it, or you would not have brought me
this letter, that has made me so happy!” and again Violet kissed her
love-letter with blushing cheeks.

Ah, how bitterly, how jealously Amber envied her that exquisite
happiness, she did not dream, or she would have started in affright at
the evil in her cousin’s heart.

She thought that Amber had overcome her love for Cecil, and was content
to be only his friend, and to forward his love affair with another with
generous self-forgetfulness.

But sweet Violet had never felt the pain of a slighted love, or she
might have known that only the noblest hearts can forget or forgive a
wrong either real or fancied.

Alas, a hopeless love is one of the things seldom forgotten and rarely
cured, coiling like a serpent around the heart, and stinging it to
death.

  “Thou bidst me crush it out and live it down,
    Stamp out its memory from my aching brain;
  Forget I loved, remove the thorny crown
    That presses on my brow with maddening pain!

  “I’ll tell thee thou hast never felt the fire
    Of Love’s impassioned flame, or thou wouldst know
  That hope deferred, the unattained desire,
    But fans the embers into brightest glow.

  “I tell thee, while we hold our earthly sway,
    My every pulse shall beat response to thine;
  Ay, more, when from the earth we pass away
    Thy spirit’s haunt shall still be sought by mine!”

Amber Laurens could have knelt in the dust at Cecil’s feet for one
tithe of the fond love-words he had written to Violet, and she hated
her successful rival with a bitterness that no words could have
pictured.

Yet with rankling hate and jealousy in her heart, she stood there and
smiled upon Violet--smiled at thought of the dark schemes weaving in
her own brain for revenge upon the hapless pair of lovers whose love
was her torture.

“Ah, Violet, don’t you wish you could have been in my place? I had a
charming drive with your precious Cecil,” she cried. “But don’t be
jealous, dear; we were talking of you all the time. Cecil wanted me to
bring this letter to you and one from you to him. In short, Violet,
I’ve promised to be Cupid’s postman. You two are to write to each other
as often as you please, and I’ll deliver all the billet-doux. Are you
pleased?”

“Pleased! Oh, Amber, I am happy! I see a rift of light in the darkness
of my awful despair. I can never thank you enough for your goodness,
but I pray Heaven to send you a lover as handsome and noble as my
Cecil, to reward your generous heart!”

Amber gave a strange laugh, that grated harshly on her own hearing, and
answered:

“Never mind wishing me a lover now, Violet, but get your pen and write
Cecil a letter that I can deliver in the morning.”

“I will--oh, I will!” cried Violet, gladly, and Amber flew away to vent
her rage in secret.

When the letter was committed to her care, she read it in the seclusion
of her chamber before she carried it to Cecil, and she longed to tear
it into a thousand pieces and scatter it to the winds of heaven before
it should gladden his eyes.

“How silly they both are!” she cried to herself, disdainfully. “What a
soft, forgiving little fool they must think me, to forget the injury
they did me and befriend them, helping them to a happiness they
cheated me of so heartlessly. Ah, it is another game I am playing, and
when I am done, I fancy we can cry quits all around.”

She made herself as lovely as possible to carry the letter to Cecil,
with some faint lurking hope, perhaps, of yet outshining Violet.

But Cecil scarcely looked at the dark, eager face, the rich attire, or
the longing dark eyes. He almost snatched the letter from her jeweled
hand, then recollected himself, with a deep flush, exclaiming:

“I beg your pardon for my rudeness, I was so anxious to read my
darling’s letter. Will you honor my den by taking a seat, Miss Laurens?”

No, Amber could not stay to see him read her rival’s letter. The look
of joy in his eyes would have driven her mad.

She said quietly that she must go; she had only stepped into the office
on her way to the druggist’s for some eau de cologne for Violet--poor
thing, her head ached so--and she would take another letter for him
that evening, if he would have it ready when she took her afternoon
drive.

He thanked her gratefully, and forgot her the next moment, as he turned
gladly to the perusal of Violet’s letter.




CHAPTER XIII.

THE PRICE OF A TERRIBLE DEED.


While Judge Camden dawdled over the newspapers in his elegant library
that evening, Amber came in and drew a chair to his side.

He glanced around at the superb young beauty, with her glowing cheeks
and flashing eyes, and inquired, sarcastically:

“Well, what is it? A big dry-goods bill for me to pay?”

“Not this time, dear grandpapa,” cooed Amber, sweetly.

“Then it’s a big check to buy jewelry or folderols. You never come
wheedling around me like this for nothing,” retorted the crusty old
judge in a tone of conviction.

“Oh, how cruelly I am misunderstood,” sighed the girl, and after a
moment of profound silence for effect, she continued:

“I came to talk to you about Violet.”

“Umph!”

“Are you determined to make her marry Mr. Castello?”

“I have sworn it!” curtly.

“In spite of her love for Cecil?”

“Cecil be--hanged!” returned the old man, violently.

“Then you entirely ignore his claim on Violet?”

“I ignore it utterly! Now look here, my girl,” and he wheeled around
on her, wrathfully, “if you come to me to wheedle me into consenting
to the affair between Violet and that fortune-hunting Cecil Grant,
you’re wasting words, let me tell you, and also making matters worse
for yourself! I won’t be interfered with, I tell you squarely; and
you will mind your own business if you know which side your bread is
buttered on, miss!”

“Yes, sir,” meekly.

“So now, if you’re satisfied, you can go back and tell Violet what I
said, and leave me in peace to read my papers!”

“I’m not satisfied yet, sir,” demurely.

“The mischief you are not? But I won’t hear another word, I tell
you--not another word! And mind you, Amber, I may leave you out of my
will if you persist in meddling with my business,” furiously.

Amber smiled slyly at his perturbation, and answered in a low, deep,
and measured voice:

“Grandpapa, you are more hasty than wise. You have simply jumped at the
conclusion that I came here to plead my cousin’s cause.”

He stared at her in amazement and exclaimed:

“Didn’t you ask me if I was determined to ignore that fellow’s claim on
Violet?”

“Certainly.”

“And didn’t you mean to take his part?” dubiously.

“Certainly not!”

“Then, by gad, what did you mean, girl? Explain yourself!”

“Don’t speak so loud, grandpapa, please. If we are heard, everything is
lost,” breathed Amber, glancing timorously at the door, with her taper
finger at her lips.

He suppressed another growl and contented himself with glaring
impatiently at her from the shade of his heavy, beetling white brows.

Secure of her victory, Amber smiled archly at him, and cried, gayly:

“Don’t look at me so angrily, like a great lion about to gobble me up;
for though I am only a little mouse I am going to help you to your
wish.”

“You,” contemptuously. “You can’t persuade Violet to marry Castello,
I know, and you can’t lure Grant away from her, for I think you’ve
already tried that game, and failed, eh?”

The burning crimson flooded Amber’s olive cheeks and brow to the edges
of her beautiful hair at this coarse jeer, but, with an effort, she
kept back a stinging retort, and answered, calmly:

“If you mean that Cecil Grant was my lover first, and that Violet stole
him from me, you are right; and, in the face of that humiliation, do
you think I would lower myself to plead their cause with you?”

“No, not if you inherit any of your grandfather’s spirit, Amber!”
chuckled the wicked old judge, with returning good humor.

“Well, I have been told that I resemble you in many things, grandpapa,”
returned Amber, smilingly, and indeed she did have the same sparkling
hazel eyes and determined mouth as well as the fiery temper of the old
man.

“Yes, yes, you are a chip off the old block, Amber, and Violet always
favored her scape-grace father too much to please me. Not that she
isn’t the prettiest girl in the world; but those dark-blue eyes of
hers have the same look of the scamp’s that lured my Marie from me,”
angrily. “But, Amber, you said you could help me. How?”

“I have a clever plan of my own to betray Violet into a marriage with
Harold Castello. You know, grandpapa, in spite of all your bluster,
that you cannot force Violet into this marriage against her will. The
law is against you.”

“Violet isn’t eighteen yet, and I can command her obedience until she
becomes of age,” he answered, frowningly.

But Amber laughed softly, and replied:

“She could appeal to the law against your authority if you asserted it
in the arbitrary manner you propose. You are a lawyer, and you know
well that your rights over Violet do not permit you to drive her into
an unwilling marriage. And there are her father’s kin also to consider.
Suppose she appeals to them, and they come forward to protect her from
you.”

“I shall take care to keep her from communicating with them,” he
replied, grimly.

“Very well. But in spite of your threats and your bluster, I do not
believe that you will dare to push Violet into this unwilling marriage.”

“I dare anything,” he began, stormingly; but again she interrupted:

“You cannot make her marry him. She would appeal to the minister, and
he would not perform the ceremony.”

“I might find a justice of the peace less scrupulous.”

“You might, but I am doubtful. The Virginians are very chivalrous, you
know, toward women, and our Violet is worshiped in the whole county. I
fear you would be mobbed if the truth of this matter transpired, and
Cecil Grant, who is such a favorite, might lead the mob.”

“If you came here to taunt me, Amber----” he began, in furious
displeasure.

“But I did not come to taunt you, only to show you the futility of
your present plans. Dear grandpapa, you cannot risk the loss of your
high standing in the county by these high-handed measures with Violet.
But suppose I can arrange her marriage to Harold Castello in the light
of an elopement, and make Cecil Grant himself believe her false to her
vows, what then?”

“You could not do it!” he averred, hoarsely.

“I can, and will, if you trust me. But--I have my price!”

“Your price?”

“Of course. It will be a great undertaking, you know; and if I succeed
in outwitting Cecil Grant, and making Violet the bride of Harold
Castello, you ought not to begrudge me a handsome present.”

“I won’t, my dear. Now out with it. It’s that diamond necklace you’ve
been badgering me about so long, no doubt.”

“It is not the diamond necklace. It’s a liberal check, grandpa. You
know I never have any money of my own scarcely, and you do tear around
so outrageously about paying my bills!”

“And no wonder, you extravagant creature, for you’d ruin me if you had
full sway! Well, and how much is it--a thousand dollars?”

Amber snapped her fingers disdainfully.

“Do you think I’d betray poor dear Violet for so paltry a sum as a
thousand dollars?” reproachfully.

He stared at her in surprise, and replied, curtly:

“I thought you were doing it for revenge because she cheated you out of
your lover?”

“Yes, but I’m running a great risk, you know, and what if I get
punished in my turn? ‘Revenge is a two-edged sword,’ you know, dear
grandpapa, so I must have some pay besides the consolation of paying
my debt to Cecil and Violet. I will take your check, please, for
twenty-five thousand dollars the hour after my fair cousin marries
Harold Castello!”

“Fiends and furies! Are you crazy, girl?”

“Why, grandpapa, certainly not. But you are a millionaire, and what is
that small sum to you, when it relieves you of all anxieties, and makes
sure the success of your darling wish? Besides, am I not your legal
heir, and I should get the money later on, so why not a little sooner?”

“Don’t be too sure of that, you minx! I shall probably leave all my
money to some charitable institution! Besides, I shall live to be a
hundred years old!”

So he blustered and stormed, but Amber remained as cool as an iceberg,
and would not abate one dollar of her demand, so that in the end he
yielded, grumpily, and promised the check.

She thanked him with an ardor he could not understand.

“You must love money very much,” he said, curiously.

“I do,” she admitted, frankly, and added: “Oh, how happy you have made
me, for that check shall buy for me the desire of my heart!”

“What is it?” he asked; but Amber evaded the question, and proceeded to
unfold to him a portion of her plans. They were so clever and so wicked
that he was chagrined because they had not occurred to his own mind, so
fertile in inventing evil.




CHAPTER XIV.

“LOVE IS THE SWEETEST THING IN LIFE.”


“If I could only see my darling Cecil, for even one short hour!” Violet
sighed, day after day.

It was so lonely in her chamber, which Judge Camden would not permit
her to leave, and where no one was allowed to visit her except Amber
and Mrs. Shirley.

“I am quite well enough to go down stairs now,” she insisted,
impatiently, to Mrs. Shirley every day, but the meek little widow shook
her head and sighed:

“Your grandfather thinks differently, my dear, and of course that
settles the matter.”

It certainly settled it as far as Mrs. Shirley was concerned, for she
was the meek slave of the irascible old man, and lived in a chronic
state of fear lest she should offend him and be sent away from Golden
Willows in disgrace.

When he took her to bring up his two orphan granddaughters, he had
rescued her from a life of grinding poverty and toil, the needle her
only defense against hunger and privation. As she was not aggressive
nor high-spirited, she preferred to endure all the caprices and
ill-humor of her benefactor rather than lose her luxurious home. She
did not dare oppose the tyrant in the slightest thing. His will was her
law.

So Violet could not expect any help from Cousin Shirley, as they called
her, her relationship being vague and distant, and her interests being
centered in the preservation of her own selfish comfort in accordance
with the first law of nature.

Yet Mrs. Shirley was not cruel or unkind. She was only the slave of
circumstance, as we all are in a great degree.

There is no help or hope for poor Violet in that household, where her
tyrannical old grandfather held the balance of power.

And she knew that quiet preparations for her marriage were going
steadily forward, and that Harold Castello was expected to arrive in
three days more.

She began to grow doubtful and frightened, to wonder if they really
had the power to force her into a marriage against her will, to dwell
feverishly on the thought of escape.

But where could she go that her grandfather, her legal guardian, could
not force her to return to his protection? The protection of the wolf
for the lamb, she thought, despairingly.

The only gleam of brightness in her life was when Amber brought the
daily letter from Cecil, the fond, loving letters, counseling courage
and patience, and assuring her that, no matter how much the judge might
bluster, he could not marry her to Harold Castello without her consent.

Cecil did not really know how wicked and cruel the old man could be.
Violet had kept from him, in very shame, the knowledge of the cruel
blow that had caused her almost fatal illness.

She could not bring herself to confide the humiliating story to her
noble lover, but she knew well that he did not fully realize the perils
by which she was surrounded.

“Only to see him, if but for one short hour!” was the yearning cry
of her anguished heart. It seemed as if one look into his beautiful,
brave, dark eyes, one clasp of his strong white hand, would endow her
with new life and hope.

  “Only to see you, my darling,
    Only to hear your voice;
  Even its faintest whisper,
    Would make my heart rejoice!”

In her despair, she turned to Amber, crying:

“Oh, Amber, you are so good, so clever, do think of some plan to let me
see my darling Cecil, if only for one short hour!”

Amber smiled, gayly, as she answered:

“Those are almost the very same words that Cecil said to me about you
this morning, and I have been racking my brain to invent a plan, for,
oh! I feel so sorry for you both!”

“You are so good, Amber. I can never thank you enough. Oh, may Heaven
soon send you a lover as noble and handsome as my Cecil!”

“You have wished that before, Violet,” laughed Amber.

“And I could not make a better wish for you, dear; for I believe that
love is the sweetest thing in life.”

“And the bitterest when unrequited,” Amber answered, in so harsh a tone
that Violet started in affright and cried out:

“Oh, I--I forgot! You--you once loved--Cecil, very dearly! But oh, I
think, I hope, you have got over it, dear Amber, have you not?”

“Oh, yes, of course, Violet! It is so easy to get over a slighted love,
you know,” laughed Amber, with a bitterness she could scarcely conceal,
while to her throbbing heart she cried:

“How I will torture pretty golden-haired Violet for those words some
day! I will pay her back pang for pang all the pain that I have
suffered.”

And she was willing to give her some little happiness now, because in
the future Violet would feel the contrast more keenly between fleeting
bliss and endless despair.

So she brought the love-letters to and fro, getting her own reward in
the fetters of gratitude that she was winding around Cecil’s heart, and
she even planned a meeting for the lovers.

That beautiful September day, when the air was so still, so balmy and
sweet, and the leaves just beginning to turn crimson in the woods, she
came smiling into Violet’s room, exclaiming:

“I have tormented grandpapa until he has granted my wish, and you will
be allowed to go with me for a drive this afternoon. What do you think
of that for a victory, little Violet?”




CHAPTER XV.

A CHARMING SURPRISE.


Violet’s beautiful eyes beamed with joy and gratitude.

“I shall see Cecil! Oh, Amber, you will let me see Cecil?” she cried,
with childish eagerness, clapping her little white hands.

“Yes, you shall see Cecil; but----” and Amber paused diffidently, then
added: “There will be one drawback to your pleasure.”

“What is that, dear Amber?”

“Grandpapa suspects that I am in sympathy with you and Cecil. He made
me promise that neither of us would leave the phaeton for a single
moment while we are out.”

“Well, Amber?”

“Do you not see that Cecil can only come to the side of the phaeton
and talk to you in my presence? Of course a third party will spoil the
pleasure of your meeting.”

“Oh, no, no, no, dear Amber, for we both love you so dearly, you have
been so good to us! And so it does not matter if you hear all that we
have to say! For we will not have time to talk of our love, but only of
our troubles,” declared Violet, frankly.

“Very well, then, Violet, you may get ready at once. Cecil will be
waiting for us on the river-road, expecting to get a letter. What a
happy surprise he will have in seeing you!”

“He will be overjoyed,” agreed Violet, without noticing Amber’s angry
frown at her tone of happy confidence in her lover.

The joy of the anticipated meeting chased the sadness from her eyes,
and brought a lovely rose-flush into her delicate cheeks. She dressed
herself in a soft, white cashmere gown, with a little wrap to match,
that had a quantity of fluffy white lace and blue ribbon about the neck
and shoulders. A pretty hat in white and blue crowned the rippling
waves of golden hair, and framed a picture of girlish beauty charming
enough to enrapture the heart of a poet, a painter, or a lover.

When the two girls were seated side by side in the phaeton, the one so
dazzlingly fair, the other so dark and brilliant, they embodied the
poet’s fancy of a sunny morn and a starry night, and it would have been
hard for any one but a lover to decide which one could claim the palm
of superior beauty.

But there was not a doubt in Cecil’s mind, for, since the first moment
he met Violet, he had named her in his heart fairest of the fair.

Like Violet, he had been pining to meet his love, and Amber had
promised him an interview if it could possibly be managed.

But, knowing the vindictive old judge so well, he scarcely dared hope
she would succeed.

So it was with no thought of seeing Violet, but in the hope of a letter
from her, he waited impatiently by the river that day.

When he heard the light roll of wheels on the sandy road, he came out
from the retreat where he was waiting, and his heart leaped with joy.

There was Violet, his beautiful darling, his heart’s idol, by Amber’s
side, her eyes beaming with joy, her little white hands outstretched,
as she called, tenderly:

“Cecil, dear Cecil!”

Amber chirped to the gray pony, and it stopped obediently, while Cecil
flew to Violet’s side, and pressed her darling hands in both his own.

“You may kiss her if you choose, Cecil. I shall be looking the other
way!” Amber said, lightly, and, blushing, Violet bent her head till her
lips met Cecil’s in a gentle pressure, soft as dew, but thrilling as
wine.

“My own!” he whispered, with a thrill of intoxicating bliss.

But if they could have seen the face that Amber had turned from them
toward the blue and sunny sky, they would have been startled at its
jealous pain.




CHAPTER XVI.

“I WILL LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE!”


If Cecil could have seen that look of deadly hate in Amber’s eyes, and
read the wicked thoughts in her mind, he would have snatched Violet in
his strong arms, and fled away with her to some safe refuge from the
cloud of woe lowering darkly over that lovely golden head.

But Amber’s seeming kindness had lulled every suspicion in his mind to
rest. He believed that she was the only friend he and Violet had in
their love affair.

But he might have prayed in a new version of the litany:

“From all false friends and wicked schemers, good Lord, deliver us!”

Just now he could think of nothing clearly but the intoxicating bliss
of Violet’s nearness, and the shy gladness of her dark-blue eyes as
they dwelt on his, so dark, so true, so tender.

He placed his hand fondly over hers, thrilling with joy at the soft
contact, and poured out, in love’s tender phrases, low and deep, all
his joy at seeing her again.

But Violet, with a shy consciousness of Amber’s presence, rejoined,
softly and anxiously:

“Oh, Cecil, we have no time even to rejoice over this happy meeting,
for I want you to advise me how to escape from the perils that surround
me.”

And, clasping her white hands in piteous terror, she added:

“Oh, I am so frightened, Cecil, at the dark and cruel fate that seems
lowering over my head! I have no peace by day or night. Terrible dreams
startle me from sleep, and fill me with forebodings of evil!”

“My darling, you are weak and nervous, that is all. There is no real
danger, for, as I have written to you every day, they cannot force you
into an unwilling marriage. Only be courageous, and persist in refusing
Harold Castello’s suit, and all will be well. Judge Camden will give up
his plan when he finds you are determined not to yield.”

“Ah, you do not know grandpapa as well as I do, Cecil. I fear his
power, he is so harsh and cruel!”

“Not cruel to you, my little love, for no one could be that!” cried the
doting lover.

Suddenly Amber looked around at them, the angry frown all gone as if by
magic, from her dark and brilliant face.

“I beg pardon for interrupting,” she began, “but really I see that I
must speak a word for Violet.”

“A hundred if you wish!” he said, courteously.

“Cecil, you do not really comprehend the perils that environ poor
Violet, because we have kept back from you a startling fact.”

“Oh, Amber----” Violet began, piteously.

“Hush, dear; I will tell Cecil the truth! He ought to know the real
reason of your illness. I am ashamed of my grandfather, but he must
know that it was a cruel blow from that old man’s hand that struck you
senseless to the floor, and almost cost your life!”

How nobly indignant she looked as she uttered the words! Who could
guess that, deep in her heart, Amber was furious that the cruel blow
had not ended her rival’s innocent life.

“Oh!” breathed Cecil Grant, in deadly wrath and amazement, while
the veins stood out on his forehead like whip-cords, and his hands
involuntarily clinched themselves as though they were round the throat
of the dastard who had sunk so low to all gentlemanly instincts as to
strike a woman.

“Oh, Amber, I wished Cecil never to hear that!” cried Violet, in deep
distress.

“It was best that he should know it, Violet, so that he might be roused
to a sense of your danger. Grandpapa is a cruel, violent old man,
and almost loses his reason when thwarted in any darling plan. He is
determined that Violet shall marry this proud millionaire, and if she
continues to defy his commands, I tremble for her very life!” shuddered
Amber, acting her part so superbly that no one could doubt that she
loved and pitied Violet with real cousinly affection.

Ah, Heaven defend the noble heart from insidious foes, who work in the
dark--foes, who, in the guise of friendship, smile in the face, with
a hidden sword in the hand! Of all enemies these are the most to be
feared and scorned.

There is something brave at least in open defiance and enmity, but the
soul recoils from the foe in ambush, from lying lips and deceitful
hearts!

She, the beautiful traitress, watched Cecil’s bitter wrath with secret
satisfaction, knowing that it would bend him more easily to her plans.

“That old man, to dare to strike you, my Violet! It is incredible!
But he shall suffer for his villainy. I will challenge him to fight.
I--I--will kill him!” raved Cecil, in sudden, deadly anger, his eyes
flashing luridly.

“Oh, no, no, no, dear Cecil, you must not harm that old man--you shall
not! I forgive him freely!” cried Violet in terror.

“No, you must not harm him,” added Amber, “you must not wreak revenge
on our grandfather; you must simply take measures to remove Violet
beyond reach of his fatal anger.”

His face paled with despair, and he cried, wretchedly:

“Ah, Heaven, what can I do? Judge Camden will not give his consent to
our marriage, and as she is his ward still, she could not marry me
without.”

“But you can elope with Violet,” cried Amber, boldly.

There was a start from Cecil, a little shriek from Violet, and Amber
continued:

“Washington is but an hour’s ride from here, and you could marry
Violet there, you know, in defiance of the whole world. I can plan the
elopement for you if you will trust to my judgment. In fact, I have
been thinking it over some time, for I knew it was the only way to save
Violet from Judge Camden’s fury.”

Cecil looked at Violet with dark, eager eyes.

“Would you be willing, my darling?” he breathed, tenderly.

Sweet Violet shrank and trembled.

“Oh, I had hoped never to be forced to this!” she murmured. “You know,
Amber, how my poor mother brought reproach upon herself by her runaway
marriage with my father.”

“Yes, I have heard all about it, and I never blamed poor Marie Camden
in the least. Her father almost forced her to it, just as he is now
forcing you, Violet,” replied Amber, instantly.

Cecil took his little love’s hand in his and pressed it warmly, as he
murmured:

“I have but a poor home to offer you, my darling, in exchange for all
the luxury of Golden Willows; but if you will come to me, I will love
you more than life.”

“Like the Lord of Burleigh,” laughed Amber, repeating:

  “I can make no marriage present,
    Little can I give my wife:
  Love will make our cottage pleasant,
    And I love you more than life.”

Violet’s eyes were shining through a mist of tender tears, her cheeks
flushed rosily, and she returned the tender pressure of her lover’s
hand.

“Cecil, I am not afraid of poverty with you,” she cried, bravely.
“I only dreaded the world’s reproach. But why should I care for
that, since we shall be all the world to each other? I am afraid of
grandpapa, I love you, and I should be charmed to live at picturesque
Bonnycastle, with that sweet lady, your beautiful mother. So I will
run away with you at any time you say so. And Amber, you must be the
bridesmaid, dear.”

“I will,” was the gay reply, and Amber said to herself that she would
not miss being the bridesmaid for anything, but her smile just then was
not good to see.

“Now that we have decided on the elopement, I had better take Violet
home, for if we stay too long, Judge Camden may come out to look for
us,” she added.

“Will you bring Violet out again to-morrow?” Cecil asked, anxiously.

“I will try, and, unless grandpapa is in a bad humor, I may succeed.
But, at any rate, I will be here, and will decide on our plans for the
elopement,” declared Amber.

He kissed Violet’s little hand with tender passion, then they drove
away, leaving him alone in the quiet road, watching them and praying
and hoping that Violet would come again, to-morrow.

An impulse came over him to go and tell his mother that he would soon
bring bonny Violet home to her for a daughter, to live in the old ruin
of a place, and shed brightness over it, after the manner of all young,
joyous things.

But half-way home he changed his mind.

“It is better she should not know. Then no one can say that she aided
and abetted me in eloping with the granddaughter of the rich Judge
Camden.”

He knew that Violet would be sure of a welcome from his stately mother,
and he decided not to tell her anything, but to take her by surprise
with his bonny bride.

He turned back toward his office, dizzy with joy, and revolving plans
for fitting up the prettiest rooms at Bonnycastle for his darling’s
use. He was sure that he could afford some pretty, simple, new
furniture, and the blue and white hangings to brighten up the place.
And, as for flowers, there were loads of them at home, and Violet
delighted in them. Besides, he would love her so dearly, he would pet
her so much that she should be too happy to miss the splendors she had
enjoyed at Golden Willows.




CHAPTER XVII.

PLANNING THE ELOPEMENT.


Only an adoring lover can realize how Cecil waited for Amber the next
afternoon, hoping and praying that Violet would be her companion.

But he was doomed to disappointment.

When the pretty little phaeton came in sight, Amber was sitting in it
all alone, with a grave and thoughtful expression on her brilliant face.

“You are disappointed, I know, but it was impossible for me to bring
Violet,” she cried, inwardly writhing at the sadness of his face.

“I am sure it was not your fault,” he replied, trying to stifle his
pain, and speak cheerfully.

“No, indeed, but something has happened that has set grandpapa quite
wild. Can you guess what?”

“Violet is not ill again? Don’t tell me that, Amber,” he cried,
anxiously, his thoughts flying in terror to his darling.

“No, no, it is not that, Cecil. Violet is well, and wanted to come with
me, but grandpapa made her stay at home to entertain--Harold Castello.”

“So he has come?” Cecil cried out, jealously.

“Yes, just an hour ago; and really, Cecil, he is a formidable rival.”

“Handsome, eh?” he asked, trying to speak lightly.

“He is magnificent. Dark as a Spaniard--in fact, grandpapa told me he
inherited a strain of Spanish blood--and with the most winning manners,
and a low, musical voice,” returned Amber, dwelling at length on
Harold Castello’s perfections in order to arouse the demon of jealousy
in Cecil’s heart.

She had suffered all the agonies of jealous love herself, and desired
that Cecil also should have a taste of that exquisite torture.

She knew well that Cecil Grant was as handsome and even more attractive
than Harold Castello, but it suited her purpose to expatiate on the
new-comer.

“If Violet were as fickle as some girls I have known, I should tremble
for your chances, Cecil,” she continued, banteringly. “He is very
fascinating, this man, and so rich, too. Of course that would count
with many girls.”

“Not with my true-hearted Violet!” he cried, proudly.

She assented, carelessly saying:

“No, for Violet is very romantic, and fancies that love and poverty
combined will be very charming. I wonder how she will find the reality.”

There was a hidden sneer in the words that he vaguely felt, and his
cheek flushed as he said:

“It is very noble in Violet to be content with my poverty. But I feel
that fortune will one day change for me, and then she shall have all
the luxuries of life!”

“Will you drive with me a little way while I unfold my plans for the
elopement?” she asked; and when he was seated by her side, driving
along the sandy road, with the low murmur of the river in their ears,
she continued:

“Violet and I talked it over a long time last night, and decided on a
plan, if it meets your approval.”

He listened to her eagerly without speaking.

“To begin with,” continued Amber, “Violet and I used to know a young
divinity student in Alexandria, who now has a church in Washington.
She would like this young minister, Wesley Christian, to perform the
ceremony, if agreeable to you.”

“Violet’s wishes are always mine,” he replied, with the gallantry of a
true lover.

“Well, that is settled,” said Amber. “Now we will go on to the next
point, the elopement.”

“Yes.”

“It must take place to-morrow evening, for the day afterward is the one
set for the marriage of Violet to the millionaire.”

“One word, Amber. This young man, this rich suitor for Violet’s hand,
does he know that she is averse to his suit? Is he willing to accept an
unwilling bride?”

“Grandpapa says that he knows all, and is willing to take Violet on any
terms, feeling confident that he can win her heart after marriage.”

“He is a dastard!” cried Cecil, with kindling anger.

“Granted,” replied Amber, with a peculiar smile, and then she
added: “But he is madly in love with her, and, being backed by her
grandfather, is naturally eager to win the prize. So our only defense
against him is to steal Violet away.”

“But how to do so under that old man’s watchful eyes?” he groaned.

“It is a difficult undertaking, but I hope to accomplish it,” she
smiled, confidently.

“How clever you are, Amber!” he cried, gratefully.

“Thank you!” she beamed, happily. “Now listen, Cecil.”

“I am all attention!”

“I have written to Wesley Christian, taken him into our confidence,
and appointed seven o’clock to-morrow evening as the time, and his own
little chapel as the place for the ceremony.”

“Yes.”

Amber continued:

“Violet is to be very gracious to Monsieur Millionaire to-morrow, so
that when I beg grandpapa to let her go for a drive with me, he will
consent. Then we will drive straight to Washington in the phaeton. You
will come by train and meet us at St. Paul’s, you understand. After the
ceremony you and Violet will start on a little wedding tour, while I
return home alone.”

“But it will be late and cool for driving back alone through the
woods,” he objected, thinking of her comfort.

“I shall not be afraid--not in the least. I shall be thinking all the
while of the good deed I have accomplished in uniting two persecuted
lovers. And now, Cecil, here is the card of Rev. Mr. Christian, with
his church address. You cannot fail to find it, and success is ours,
unless grandpapa follows with a shot-gun,” ended Amber, with a light,
rippling laugh.




CHAPTER XVIII.

“NOT LOVE, BUT FEAR!”


“Oh, grandpapa, spare me, I entreat you! I cannot, will not meet that
man!” cried Violet, in a mixture of despair and entreaty.

He was urging her presence in the drawing-room, to meet Harold
Castello, but with streaming eyes she implored his clemency.

“Do not force me into this man’s detested presence, I pray you! Oh,
grandpapa, what has your poor little Violet done to you to be treated
in this cruel fashion?”

“Treated cruelly! Well, of all the charges, you silly child, that I
ever heard, this is the most unfounded! Is it cruel to offer you a rich
and handsome young man for a husband?”

“Yes, when all my heart is given to another!” cried the girl,
vehemently.

A stifled oath escaped the judge’s lips.

“You shall never marry that poverty-stricken young Grant, you may be
sure of that, my girl; and the sooner you realize it, the better!”

Violet trembled, but she did not reply, fearing the violence of his
wrath.

“Come, now, Violet! make up your mind to meet Mr. Castello as I wish
you to do,” he added, cajolingly, for he really believed that a sight
of the handsome and fascinating Spaniard might alter the girl’s
sentiments toward him.

Weary of his threats and importunities, she said, despairingly:

“If I grant him the wished-for interview it will only be to refuse his
suit in the most positive terms.”

“Very well, my dear; only let him see you, and you may change your
mind,” grimly.

“I am ready to go now,” continued Violet, summoning all her courage for
the dreaded interview.

“Well, but my girl, you’ll change your gown first, won’t you? That
plain white gown isn’t nice enough. Ring for Phebe, and let her dress
you in your pretty blue silk with the lace rufflings--do, Violet,”
coaxed the old man, who was a connoisseur in the matter of ladies’
dress.

“I shall go as I am, grandpapa, or not at all,” declared Violet,
perversely, and he had to yield.

“But your eyes show traces of tears, Violet. Hadn’t you better bathe
them in a little cold water?”

“No. I want him to see that I have been crying. Perhaps he will
understand, then, how I loathe and hate him!” she burst out, bitterly.

“Come, then, you cross-grained little minx!” he growled, and, taking
her arm, led her down stairs to the drawing-room, where the unwelcome
suitor was waiting, impatiently, for her appearance.

Judge Camden almost dragged the shrinking and reluctant girl forward to
the center of the room.

“Here she is, Mr. Castello--my spoiled, willful little girl; and now I
will leave you alone with her to plead your own cause,” he exclaimed,
thus informally introducing Violet and making his escape.

They were left alone in the long, magnificent drawing-room, the dark,
handsome man, and the fair, beautiful girl. She stood still, with
downcast eyes a moment, then lifted them shudderingly to his eager
face.

He sprang forward and tried to take her hand, but she hid it in the
snowy folds of her gown.

“Dear Violet, how glad, how rapturously happy I am to meet you again!”
he exclaimed, in a low and musical voice.

She was trembling so that she could not stand, and sinking into a
chair, with a weary sigh, she essayed to speak:

“Harold Castello, words of love are wasted between you and me! You do
not love me. Why profess to do so? It is ghastly fear for your own
safety, not true love, that impels you to bind my life to yours.”




CHAPTER XIX.

“I LOVE YOU AS MADLY AS YOU HATE ME!”


As Harold Castello looked at Violet and listened to her words, his
dusky complexion grew lividly pale, and his eyes dilated with something
like horror.

Darting close to her side, he bent close to her ear, whispering,
hoarsely:

“Speak lower. What if you should be overheard, girl?”

“You have made me reckless with your persecutions, and I scarcely
care,” she breathed, almost defiantly.

He shut his lips tightly over a stifled oath and stood with his arms
folded on his breast, regarding her with a baffled air.

Seeing that he did not speak, she looked up and said, angrily:

“Why have you come here to persecute me? You need not have feared me.”

“Because betrayal would have been as bad for you as for me,” he
sneered, and Violet answered, dauntlessly:

“Yes, that is the only thing that could have sealed my lips.”

“Darling, how cruel you are! Can no memory of the past soften your
heart?”

“Do not speak words of love to me, sir. I loathe, abhor, detest you,
and I would die before I would become your wife.”

“Violet, I love you as madly as you hate me, and I have sworn to
possess you. Will you not listen to me? I am very rich, and you shall
be housed like a queen if you will marry me. See what splendid jewels
I have brought you!” and he held out to her a case of diamonds,
sparkling on white velvet beds, the most exquisite set that could be
imagined.

She pushed the case away so angrily that it fell from his hands to the
floor and lay all in a heap of cold white fire upon the rich velvet
carpet.

“You despise my offering?” he exclaimed, bitterly, as he stooped to
gather his scorned gift from the carpet, and restore them to the case.

“I despise it and you! How often must I reiterate that fact?” cried
Violet, angrily.

“As often as you please, fair beauty, but it will make no difference
in my determination to win you for my own,” he cried, with a certain
defiance, enraged at her scorn.

She made no answer for a few moments, but she thought, with a happy
thrill at her heart that in a few more hours she would be safe from his
persecutions, the bride of her own beloved Cecil.

Strong in this hope, she said, presently:

“It is useless for you to press your suit with me. I fear and loathe
you so deeply that I could never even tolerate your presence. The
sooner you realize this the better. But I can assure you that it is not
necessary to make me your wife to insure my silence on the past. Rest
easy. My lips shall be sealed.”

With these words, she arose to leave the room.

He saw by her flashing eyes and compressed lips that it was quite
useless to seek to detain her, and he stood in angry silence while she
left the room, thinking:

“How superb she was in her anger! Her eyes glowed like stars, and her
little red mouth was so charming in its disdain that I longed to kiss
it. By Heaven, I love her more dearly than ever; and, when she is mine,
I will tame her if it is in the power of mortal man to do it.”

He laughed aloud at thought of the clever plot that was to give her to
his arms.

“How she will rage at first!” he thought, but the prospect did not
deter him from his purpose, perhaps only added zest to his desire to
have Violet for his own. He liked the difficulty of the whole affair,
and would rather have had Violet unwillingly than any other more eager
bride.

With heaving bosom and flashing eyes, Violet returned to her own room,
thankful that the dreaded interview was over, and hoping that never
again on earth need she be called upon to face that man again.

It was but a few hours now to the time for her drive with Amber that
was to end in the marriage with Cecil, her heart’s darling, and,
locking her door, she proceeded to pack a hand-satchel with such
changes as she would need in her little wedding journey to Niagara
Falls.

Violet loved Cecil with the unchangeable love of a lifetime, and her
dearest wish was to be his wife. Yet her young heart was heavy over
this enforced elopement.

She deplored its necessity, and would have preferred to wait for him
several years rather than incur the notoriety of an elopement, but
Amber had assured her over and over that unless she married Cecil Grant
this evening, Judge Camden would find means to force her to wed Harold
Castello to-morrow.

Her packing finished, she unlocked the door and sat down at the
window, to pass away the intervening time with a book.

But she could not interest herself in its pages, and, laying it
down, she took some embroidery from her little work-basket and sewed
mechanically, her eyes on the work, her mind far away.

She was restless and unhappy, despite the fact that she would soon be
the happy bride of the man she adored, and who adored her in turn.

A weight of trouble, doubt, and strange foreboding lay like lead upon
her girlish spirits, and now and then deep sighs heaved her breast, and
tears would sparkle out upon her thick, curly lashes.

At length the embroidery dropped unheeded in her lap, and Violet sat
turning her engagement ring round and round upon her finger, her blue
eyes fixed on the far-away landscape.




CHAPTER XX.

THE STORY OF THE OPAL RING.


Suddenly the door opened and Amber entered the room.

The handsome brunette looked as gay and smiling as if she, and not
Violet, were the prospective bride.

“Ah, Violet, moping here all alone! What is the matter?” she cried,
lightly.

Violet turned her dark-blue eyes from contemplating the distant hills,
and fixed them on the smiling, treacherous face of her cousin, sighing:

“Ah, Amber, I am so unhappy!”

“Unhappy? When a few hours more will see you Cecil’s bride! I am
surprised at you, child.”

“Oh, Amber, there is a dreadful weight on my heart--a foreboding of
evil that I cannot reason away!”

“Perhaps you are repenting your promise to Cecil.”

“No, no!”

“You have had an interview with Mr. Castello. Perhaps his handsome
face and the splendid diamonds he gave you, combined with his ardent
pleadings, have caused your heart to waver between him and Cecil,”
continued Amber, in a bantering tone.

Violet looked at her reproachfully and cried:

“How can you dream of such a thing, Amber? I hate the man and his
jewels. Grandpapa forced me to go down and see him, but I told him
candidly how much I hated him, and that I would rather die than marry
him!”

“But he did not withdraw his suit for your hand?”

“No,” Violet answered, with a deep and heavy sigh, and again turned
her eyes toward the sky with a sorrowful look, while she restlessly
turned the opal ring upon her finger.

Amber’s eyes watched the gleaming jewel with interest and presently she
said:

“I am sorry you feel so blue, my dear, but I suppose it is the suspense
of waiting that makes you so nervous. But it is several hours yet
before we can start for Washington, so I will beguile your impatience
by telling you the story of the opal ring you wear.”

“Has it really a story, Amber?” the girl asked, listlessly.

“Yes, a very thrilling one. If I were a novelist, I could make a
charming story of it; but I have no talent that way, so I must put it
in plain words.”

Violet’s sad eyes began to look brighter. Everything about the Grants
interested her, because she loved Cecil so dearly.

“Ah, I see you are looking brighter already,” laughed Amber. “Well, now
I am about to begin. Once upon a time----”

“Yes,” Violet murmured, encouragingly, for her cousin had suddenly
paused thoughtfully.

“Well, once upon a time,” resumed Amber, “a girl as young and beautiful
as you wore that opal ring. Her name was Linda--Linda Grant--and she
was young and gay and romantic, and as she was so charming, she had
hosts of lovers; but, strange to say, none of them could win her favor.
They said her mind was filled with visions of an ideal lover, grander
and handsomer than any man she knew, and that for him she kept her
heart.”

“Just as I kept mine for Cecil,” murmured Violet, tenderly.

“Yes,” Amber answered, with a frown on her averted face. Then she
continued:

“Suddenly this beautiful Linda Grant, the boast of this whole country,
disappeared as strangely as if the earth had opened and swallowed her.”

“Oh!” breathed Violet, in sorrow and dismay.

“It was on a Hallow Eve,” went on Amber. “The Grants were rich in those
days, and there had been a grand party at Bonnycastle that night. They
said afterward that Linda Grant that night was gayest of the gay and
fairest of the fair. She wore pink brocaded silk in a court-train, with
white lace draperies looped with wild roses, little high-heeled pink
slippers, and pearl ornaments. On her finger glowed this opal ring, a
mysterious gift from some unknown lover who had sent it with a perfumed
note that declared himself to be the Prince Charming for whom Linda
was waiting. The mysterious unknown begged her to wear the opal as
their betrothal ring, until he came to claim her, which should be very
soon. This romantic proceeding delighted the young girl, and she wore
the opal ring for the first time at the Hallow Eve party. At midnight
she left her friends with a light excuse, promising to return in a few
minutes, and--was never seen again!”

“Her mysterious lover had claimed her,” breathed Violet, in a voice of
awe.

“So it was believed for a long time, when all search for her had proved
futile, but years passed away before it was learned that death itself
had claimed the romantic little beauty that night.”

“Death?” cried Violet, trembling.

“Her remains were found five years afterward in an old unused well,
and the explanation was perfectly clear. The romantic girl, believing
in the witcheries of Hallow Eve, must have slipped away at midnight,
when the moon was full, to look for her lover’s face in the old well.
She probably lost her balance and fell in, and the mystery of her fate
remained unknown all that time.”

“Poor Linda!” sobbed Violet, with tears upon her cheeks. “And the
lover, Amber--did he ever come to seek his betrothed?”

“No, never; and when Linda was found in the well, with the opal ring
on her skeleton hand, superstitious people shook their heads and
declared the ring was of evil origin, that the Evil One himself had
sent it to summon Linda to her dreadful death. Many, many strange
stories were told by the credulous country people, and especially the
silly slave-folk, but the one most generally credited was the story of
Linda’s singing.”

“Her singing!” Violet echoed, in affright.

“Yes, she had an exquisite voice, and sang like a nightingale, ’tis
said, and after her death she assumed the part of a banshee at
Bonnycastle. It is said that whenever trouble or death hovers over that
household, a phantom voice is heard singing over the old tower, in
tones so sweet and sad and ghostly, that the very blood of the listener
is curdled in the veins.”

Violet shuddered and looked with new interest at the ring on her
hand--the mysterious betrothal ring of poor romantic Linda, who had met
so terrible a fate.

“Does it frighten you to wear the ring now that you know its gruesome
history?” inquired Amber, adding: “I am not a coward myself, but
nothing could induce me to wear that ring. For one thing, the opal is
always considered unlucky, and you must acknowledge that it brought
misfortune to poor Linda Grant. Besides, I should always be wondering
if it really had an evil origin, and it would frighten me to remember
the years in which it was hidden from sight in the old well on that
dead girl’s skeleton hand.”

She expected to see Violet tear the magnificent jewel from her finger,
and cast it away in horror, but she was disappointed, and chagrined,
for the fair young girl raised it to her lips and kissed it as though
it were sacred.

“How different we are, Amber,” she said, softly. “All that you have
told me only makes this ring dearer. My heart aches for poor dear
Linda, and the lover who could never claim her for his own. I am sure
he was a real, living lover, and probably her disappearance broke his
heart. Their ill-fated love makes it sacred to me; and, besides, I
must always remember that it is a pledge of my Cecil’s love, and that
so long as it keeps its radiance undimmed, his love for me remains
unchanged.”

And as she had kissed the ring first for the sake of hapless dead
Linda, she kissed it again for Cecil, her noble lover, with the
love-light in his dark, tender eyes, and the music in his wooing voice.

Amber was chagrined and baffled in her longing to see Violet cast the
ring away in fear and disgust. So far her clever plot for possessing
herself of the jewel had utterly failed, and her hazel eyes flashed
malignantly under their drooping lashes.

Trying to keep the bitter anger out of her voice, she added:

“I will tell you how that old story was recalled to my mind to-day.
Phebe told me that she met Mrs. Grant’s old servant, Uncle Bob, down
the road this morning, and the old darky was in a state of excitement
because the ghost had been singing over the tower last night, and
Mrs. Grant was almost in hysterics to-day looking for some dreadful
misfortune to befall the family.”

“May Heaven watch over that beautiful lady and her noble son, my
beloved, and keep them from misfortune!” breathed Violet, turning her
sweet, blue eyes heavenward.

Amber gave a low, sarcastic laugh, and exclaimed:

“It would seem as if the Grant’s family ghost considers your
approaching marriage to Cecil in the light of a misfortune.”

“Ah, Amber, do not say such a thing, even in jest, for it would break
my heart to bring trouble to my darling Cecil!” almost sobbed Violet,
in nervous alarm.

“Of course I was jesting, child, although I fancy that the proud Mrs.
Grant might be better pleased if her son had married some rich heiress,
who could help him redeem the family estates, than a poor girl who will
be only a burden to them both. But it cannot be helped, since Cecil
has chosen you, and I consider that the banshee showed bad taste in
bewailing the affair,” Amber rejoined, in a tone of delicate sarcasm.

“Oh, Amber, I do not believe that Cecil’s mother is at all mercenary,
for I have heard it several times hinted that she refused our rich
grandfather several years ago.”

“She must be a very silly woman if she did, for grandpapa’s money would
have restored old Bonnycastle to its original splendor. But perhaps she
thought Cecil would be sure to marry an heiress. Won’t she be furious
when he brings home Judge Camden’s disinherited granddaughter as his
bride!” said Amber, determined to torture her cousin all she could in a
sly way.

She was succeeding well, for Violet burst into low, nervous sobbing,
hiding her lovely face in her little white hands.

“Pshaw, Violet, do not cry like a baby. I was only teasing you, and if
I did not approve of the marriage, I certainly would not have proposed
the elopement,” Amber cried, reprovingly, and added:

“Do you know it is but two hours now until we start? You had better lie
down and get a little sleep, Violet, so as to look fresh and pretty for
the wedding. I will leave you now; and, remember, I will be back in two
hours for you; you must be ready in your traveling dress and hat, and
we will slip away without any one knowing.”

She went away, and Violet lay down as she was bidden, but sleep refused
to visit her eyes.

Amber’s artful innuendoes had made her cousin ten times more unhappy
than before. The shadow of a lowering sorrow, heavy but inexplicable,
hovered with black vulture-like wings over her heart, filling it with a
nameless terror. Frightened and despondent, she rose and knelt down to
pray instead of sleep, asking her heavenly Father to be good to her and
Cecil.




CHAPTER XXI.

AMBER’S REVENGE.


In the little Washington chapel an anxious group waited for Cecil
Grant’s appearance. They were Violet and Amber, together with the
Reverend Wesley Christian and his young wife.

The hour of seven had passed, and the early autumn twilight was casting
weird shadows within the chapel, with its stained-glass windows. It had
grown so dark that they could scarcely see each other’s faces.

But Amber had stipulated that there should be no light to lure
passers-by to enter. She did not wish to be recognized by any one lest
her grandfather should find out her share in the elopement.

“But there will be light enough at seven o’clock,” she said, plausibly
enough.

But seven o’clock had passed and the half-hour, also, and yet Cecil
Grant did not appear. Amber was loud in wonder and disapproval of the
tardy bridegroom, but Violet only trembled and sobbed nervously in her
little lace handkerchief until her eyes were blinded with burning tears.

She knew that it was strange, very strange, that Cecil had not kept his
appointment, but it pained her gentle heart to hear Amber blame him so
relentlessly for his tardiness.

“Oh, Amber, do not speak so harshly. He will come, I know he will
come,” she whispered, through her choking sobs, and just then they
heard a carriage stopping outside.

The next moment a tall, dark young man, with his hat pulled over his
brows and his form enveloped in a long, traveling ulster, rushed wildly
into the church, panting, in a muffled voice:

“I am pursued by Judge Camden! Let us hasten the ceremony, or we will
be interrupted!”

He drew Violet’s little hand in his own and led her forward to the
altar, followed by Amber in a state of suppressed excitement.

Violet’s heart gave a throb of the joy at thought that Cecil had kept
his troth, but she did not lift her sweet, tear-dimmed eyes to the face
of the man by her side, or even in the twilight gloom of the chapel she
would have been startled.

The young minister and his wife having never seen Cecil Grant, had
no thought that anything was wrong. They shared in the bride’s
satisfaction over the bridegroom’s coming, and the young divine stepped
to the front of the altar and made the lovers one as hastily as he
could by somewhat curtailing the Episcopal marriage service.

Like one in a dream, Violet felt the ring slipped over her finger, the
bridegroom’s kiss on her lips, and an exultant murmur:

“My wife!”

But why did her heart sink down like lead instead of thrilling with a
young bride’s tender joy?

“I congratulate you, Violet. May you be very happy--you and your
husband,” she heard Amber saying, gayly, but her new-made husband was
dragging her away to the carriage, muttering:

“There’s not a moment to be lost! Come, dearest, or Judge Camden will
overtake us, and--there might be bloodshed, for he has sworn to shoot
me.”

She gave a little frightened cry as he lifted her into the carriage,
and sank half swooning among the cushions. He followed, the door
closed, and the carriage clattered away over the stony street through
the deepening night.

The minister, who had received a liberal fee, in spite of the
bridegroom’s haste, lingered only long enough to put Amber into her
phaeton, then said good-night and walked away briskly with his pretty
little wife, leaving the successful schemer to return to her home and
complete her clever work.

She laughed mockingly, as she took up the reins and chirped to the
pony, and the wandering breeze echoed her own voice back and made her
shudder. It sounded like that of some mocking fiend.

She drove swiftly out of the city streets, and soon gained the lonely
country road full of rustic sights and sounds. Night had fallen, and
the sky was gemmed with stars, the full moon rising over the hills
throwing a flood of light on the scene.

Amber had no fear of the night and the loneliness. She was full of
elation and triumph, her pulses bounding with joy.

“Out of my path forever!” she cried, aloud, happily, and the low
winds sighing through the trees that skirted the road seemed to echo
“Forever!”

She had plotted a wicked and a cruel thing, and she had succeeded in
carrying it out, but no remorse touched her as she thought of her
nefarious work.

“I have my revenge on her now, the little baby-faced beauty,” she
whispered to her exulting heart.

Suddenly she heard in the distance coming toward her, the sound of a
horse’s feet, in a hard gallop over the road.

Her heart leaped into her throat, and she involuntarily drew rein in
terror, exclaiming:

“It is he! just a moment too late!”

Nearer, nearer sounded the thunderous hoofs as of one riding for his
dear life. Amber’s guilty heart told her too surely who was coming, and
the cold dew of terror beaded her brow.

“I have the worst task to go through yet, but I will not flinch. A
little courage, and it will be over!” she thought, resolutely.

The approaching rider thundered into view, mounted on a splendid black
horse, satanically beautiful and powerful. He was coming straight
toward her, but the animal shied suddenly at sight of the phaeton
waiting in the moonlighted road, and reared upward, almost throwing its
rider.

The gray pony Beauty whinnied with fear, and Amber held the reins tight
while she called, eagerly:

“Cecil! Cecil!”

With some difficulty, the young man restrained his frightened steed and
rode forward to the side of the phaeton.

It was Cecil Grant, as she had suspected, and she noted with a
throbbing heart how handsome he looked, sitting so straight in the
saddle, the moonlight on his pale, eager, excited face.

Did no pang of remorse touch her cruel heart for her treachery toward
this man whom she called friend?

Alas, no; she only rejoiced in her sin that left him still free to love
and win, if every effort did not fail.

“Amber, is it you?” he cried, excitedly. “Good Heaven! why are you
returning, and alone? Where is Violet?”

Oh, what love and even worship breathed in his tone as he pronounced
that name! It thrilled Amber’s heart with rage, but she held it in
check and said, quickly:

“Cecil, we waited more than half an hour in the chapel and you did not
come. Why were you so tardy?”

“I will explain later, Amber. Let us go on to Violet now. She must be
very uneasy over my detention.”

“Uneasy does not express it, Cecil; she was bitterly angry,” Amber
replied, with a hard, bitter laugh.

“Angry with me, my sweet little Violet! I can scarcely believe it,
for surely she would know that I was unavoidably detained. But let us
hasten to her so that I can beg her pardon, for I am eager, oh, so
eager, Amber--to call my little love my wife.”

“Wait, Cecil, there is really no hurry now,” cried Amber, meaningly.




CHAPTER XXII.

BETTER DEAD THAN FALSE.


“But, Amber, I differ with you. Every moment is an hour until I reach
my darling,” cried the impatient lover.

“And I repeat, Cecil, that there is no hurry. Oh, why did you make that
fatal delay? Do you not know that a bridegroom can offer his bride no
greater affront than to be late at the marriage hour?”

“I know that you speak the truth, Amber; but, oh, Heaven! the cause
that detained me was so pressing and sacred and distressing that even a
bride could excuse it. Oh, Amber, there is cruel sorrow at Bonnycastle
this night, and my mother lies low on a bed of anguish. I was summoned
to her side just as I was about to go to the train, and in my horror
and distress at my mother’s illness, and while I was comforting her
with all my poor power, the train left the station. I tore myself from
my poor mother’s couch, rushed to the stable, saddled Prince, and
started for Washington at the maddest pace that ever man galloped to
his bride. See how the sweat pours from Prince’s flanks, and my blood
is rushing through my veins like fire. Violet will forgive me, I know,
for my darling cannot help but sympathize with me in the blow that has
almost killed my mother.”

“What is it, Cecil? for I, too, can sympathize with you in sorrow,”
murmured Amber, very sweetly.

“It will pain you to hear it, Amber, my gentle friend. Spare me the
recital. Let us hasten to sweet Violet. Is she waiting at the chapel?”

“She is not waiting at the chapel, Cecil.”

“Then where? For surely she came with you to the city! You said just
now----” he began, but she interrupted, with a voice of anguish:

“Ask me no more questions, Cecil, for I have cruel news for you--news I
would far sooner die than tell you.”

He cried out in alarm:

“Violet is not ill--not dead! Speak quickly, Amber!”

The girl answered with consummate, tragic force:

“She were better dead than false!”

“Oh, Heaven!” he gasped, hollowly.

“False!” repeated Amber, most bitterly, and went on:

“Oh, Cecil, I tried to prevent it; I told her you would come; I begged
them to wait, but----”

“Go on!” he implored, and she continued, sadly:

“Oh, Cecil, call all your strength and pride to your aid, for it is
cruel news I have for you. Violet was bitterly resentful at your delay.
She wept wildly, hysterically, and raved out that she was a forsaken
bride, jilted at the very altar.”

“My poor Violet, my sensitive little love,” he groaned; but Amber went
on:

“While she was raving in her anguish, Harold Castello suddenly entered
the chapel. He had suspected the elopement and followed us.”

“The serpent!” Cecil cried, angrily, and she murmured:

“You may well say so, for no arrival was ever more fatally inopportune.
Of course he was delighted at what looked like deliberate skulking and
perfidy on your part. He made the most of it, and boldly offered to
take your place with Violet.”

Some sounds of inarticulate fury came from Cecil’s lips, and she
smiled to herself as she went on stabbing his heart:

“Oh, Cecil, forgive me that it is my cruel task to bring you this news!
She listened to him, poor Violet--she was always weak, and vain, and
childish--and he made her believe that you would never come, that she
was really jilted. She was wild with resentment, she would not listen
to me. Before I could realize it, they turned to the preacher. He
married them, and they sprang into his carriage and drove away.”




CHAPTER XXIII.

OH! THE TORTURING AGONY OF LOVE BETRAYED!


Amber’s deep-laid scheme had succeeded beyond her wildest hopes.

Every detail had been carried out, with one exception.

She had hoped ardently to secure the opal ring, and to give it to Cecil
at this moment, saying, cruelly:

“Violet tore this ring from her finger in scorn, saying: ‘Give this to
Cecil Grant, and tell him I despise him, and am glad I have escaped a
life of poverty as his wife!’”

Violet had clung so faithfully to the ring that this master-stroke was
not possible to Amber, but, after all, it was not necessary, for Cecil
did not dream of doubting her plausible statements.

But oh, the torturing agony of love betrayed! The anguish of loss
and despair! the burning jealousy that filled his soul at Amber’s
disclosures, no words could tell!

She had craved revenge upon Cecil Grant, because he had turned from
her dazzling charms, to sun himself in the tender light of Violet’s
dark-blue eyes. She had full measure of revenge now in the deadly blow
she had struck at his loving heart.

A dagger in his heart would have been more welcome and less painful,
for the keen thrust would have soon been over, and then merciful
oblivion.

                “’Twere better far
  Never to love than love and lose again!
    Better to have a sky without a star
  Than for one setting weep in bitter pain!”

Amber’s gloating eyes did not lose one change of the pale, writhing
face of her victim as the poisoned blade of her keen revenge rankled in
his quivering heart.

He had uttered one terrible cry, and reeled in his saddle so that she
feared he was going to fall; then his strength returned, he sat erect
again, his handsome face ghastly pale in the moonlight, his eyes dark
with despair.

There was a moment’s blank silence, then Amber heard him murmur, in a
voice of bitter anguish:

“God have mercy on poor Violet and me!”

“I should think that you would curse her!” burst forth Amber,
indignantly.

With a sigh from the bottom of his heart, he cried:

“No, I cannot curse sweet Violet, for I can enter somewhat into her
feelings, and I know that villain taunted and tempted her, or she would
not have lost faith in me so quickly! Oh, Heaven, why could she not
trust my love a little longer?”

“It looked so strange--the delay you know--for we knew the train had
come in, and we could think of no reason for your absence,” reminded
Amber.

“No one could have thought of such a reason, no one could have
suspected such a fiendish deed!” he cried, warmly. “Oh, Amber, how it
will pain and grieve your gentle heart to hear this new proof of Judge
Camden’s wickedness!” he almost groaned.

“Oh, what has grandpapa done? Tell me quickly, for I cannot bear the
suspense!”

Her eager eyes scanned his face closely, taking in all its agony
without one throb of remorse at her hard heart. She even smiled to
herself at the accomplishment of all her plans, remembering that not
only had she secured her revenge on Cecil and Violet, but gained a
large sum of money for her treachery.

While she waited anxiously, he said:

“My horse is very restive. Suppose we ride on toward home, and I can
explain as we go. There is no need of lingering here,” sighing heavily,
“and my poor mother needs me by her side.”

He turned his horse’s head and cantered along by the side of the
phaeton, while Amber exclaimed:

“Your mother is not ill, I hope!”

“Yes, she is ill--of grief and worry, and that terrible malady, an
aching heart. She has received a terrible blow dealt by the pitiless
hand of that heartless old man, Judge Camden.”

“You astonish me, my dear Cecil! What under Heaven could my grandfather
do to distress your gentle mother?”

“He has done what no one could have dreamed of doing, for it was the
act of a fiend, and must have been put into his head by the Evil One
himself! Out of wrath and resentment against me, he has bought up the
mortgage upon Bonnycastle, and foreclosed it. We are ordered to vacate
the place in one week.”

“Good Heaven!”

Amber uttered that one cry and relapsed into silence, like one too
dazed for further speech.

How often she had rehearsed this scene, how often laughed to herself at
the tragic voice in which she would cry:

“Good Heaven!”

“I do not wonder at your horror!” exclaimed Cecil. “It was a
wicked--nay, an infernal deed! It will break my poor mother’s heart
to go from the home, to which she went a young and happy bride, and
where she had hoped to stay until death closed her eyes on the trials
of life! For myself, I could bear it all; but, Amber, I am heart-broken
for my mother’s sake!”

“Can nothing be done, can no one help you?” she cried, tenderly,
sympathetically.

“No, it cannot be helped. It is too large an amount of money for me to
raise. I could give no securities for such a sum. I have been barely
able to pay the interest on the debt,” the young man answered, gloomily
and hopelessly, for this burden of debt had weighed heavily on his
young manhood. He had borne it bravely for his mother’s sake, but he
had long ago resolved that at her death he would sacrifice everything,
let the old place go, and, forsaking the neighborhood, seek a new place
for himself in the wide world outside the simple country town.

Alas, the cruel, unexpected blow had fallen heavily on his poor
mother’s heart, and he could not avert it; he was helpless, hopeless!

Amber gazed at him with wide, dark eyes, full of tender pity.

“How much is the whole amount of the debt, Cecil?” she asked, gently.

“A trifle to your grandfather, Amber, but a fortune to me. It is twenty
thousand dollars!”

“Twenty thousand dollars! Only twenty thousand dollars, Cecil. Why,
then you shall not lose Bonnycastle! You shall pay off the mortgage and
keep the old home for your mother!” cried Amber, joyously.

“My dear friend, I do not comprehend you!” cried Cecil, in perplexity.

“I will explain, Cecil, for oh, I am so happy that I can help you.
Why, it is perfectly easy. I have some money of my own--more than
twenty thousand dollars--and I will give it to you to pay off the debt
and outwit that wicked old man who wants to vent his spite against you
by aiming a cruel blow at your gentle mother’s heart!” cried Amber,
eagerly.

He gazed at her in mournful surprise and gratitude as he replied:

“This is very generous and noble in you, dear Amber, as well as most
unexpected; but it would be very improper for me to accept your offer.
Still, I thank you from my heart, although I must decline!”

“But, Cecil, I will not permit you to decline! I insist on giving you
this money, which is entirely my own. It need not offend your pride,
for I can bestow this gift upon you, and no one shall ever know of it.
We will keep the secret in our own hearts,” urged Amber, tenderly and
anxiously, adding:

“Think of your mother and accept it for her sake!”

He was touched to the heart by her noble generosity. He felt that he
had never fully appreciated Amber Laurens at her best.

But he was resolute in his refusal.

“I thank you more than I can say, but I could never accept such a gift
from you, my noble friend,” he answered.

“Then, Cecil, let me lend you the money, to be repaid at your leisure!
You can at least accept this favor from one whom, next to Violet, you
have promised a place in your heart.”

“Do not speak to me of Violet. Let me forget her fatal mistake if I
can, in the distress of this other calamity!” he cried, feverishly.

“I will not breathe that false girl’s name to you again, my poor,
unhappy Cecil; but I insist upon lending you the money. I shall be
wounded if you refuse it,” persisted Amber.

But to all of her urgings, Cecil Grant returned a grateful refusal,
assuring her that the offer had placed him under as heavy obligations
to her as if he had accepted it.

“I shall not consider the matter settled to-night. Take time to think
it over, Cecil, and perhaps you will change your mind and accept
my offer. In the meantime, I shall scold grandpapa roundly for his
wicked revenge, and try to make him revoke the foreclosure. And now
good-night, my dear, dear friend; and remember that one heart aches for
your sorrow, and sympathizes with your distress,” cried treacherous
Amber, as they parted, he to return to his unhappy mother, she to
rejoice with her grandfather over their signal victory.




CHAPTER XXIV.

“WHY AM I SO WRETCHEDLY UNHAPPY?”


Amber had prosecuted all but one of her schemes to a successful
fulfillment, but Harold Castello had not been so fortunate.

His greatest task lay before him in the near future.

He had secured an unwilling bride by strategy--he had now the even more
difficult task of holding his prize and winning her heart.

That heart belonged to another man. How could he wrest it from his
keeping?

He knew well that Violet’s faith in her lover’s fidelity was too
strongly anchored to be disturbed by any falsehoods he could invent.

His momentary triumph as he rode away with the duped girl by his side,
was mixed with anxiety over the thought of the recognition that would
soon take place on Violet’s part, and the exciting scene that would
follow.

Violet was still sobbing in her corner of the carriage, in a low,
hysterical fashion, seeming oblivious of her new-made husband’s
presence, and in truth she had not experienced one throb of the sweet
elation natural to a young bride’s heart. Instead, there was a leaden
weight of woe on her spirits, and touching all her thoughts with grim
despair.

Harold Castello drew close to the young girl’s side, slipped his arm
about her waist, and clasped her close, so that the golden head nestled
against his shoulder, and he could feel the quick pulsations of her
heart as she rested so near him. He did not speak, fearing that he
might not so successfully disguise his voice as he had done in the
church.

His heart throbbed with passionate joy as he held Violet, poor
unconscious Violet, so close to his heart, stealing caresses that would
never be permitted him when she should learn his identity with the
rejected suitor she both hated and feared.

Violet began to wonder at her own heavy heart.

She had expected to feel so blithe and happy when she was Cecil’s bride!

Suddenly she sobbed, heart-brokenly:

“Oh, Cecil, speak to me! Tell me why I am so wretchedly unhappy in this
hour that promised so much bliss!”

“My darling!” he murmured, indistinctly, as he pressed his burning lips
to the pure white brow against his shoulder.

“Oh, Cecil, I am so frightened! Will grandpapa overtake us, do you
think? Will he--do anything--dreadful?” continued the deceived girl,
apprehensively.

“No, no, my own darling, he will not overtake us now! Rest easy,
for your adoring husband will defend you against the whole world!”
reassured Harold Castello, in a muffled voice, hoping that she would
not detect the strange sound.

But Violet half lifted her head from his shoulder, exclaiming:

“How strangely your voice sounds, dear Cecil!”

“I am very hoarse from a severe cold, and my voice seems strange in my
own ears,” he answered, suddenly gathering her closely in his arms, and
pressing burning kisses on her quivering lips, her fair brow, dimpled
cheeks, and even her warm, white throat.

Violet did not return her husband’s kisses. She only endured them at
first in a passive way, then suddenly gave a little startled cry, and
tried to writhe herself out of his arms.

“What is it, my own love?” he murmured, tenderly, but without releasing
her.

“Oh, Cecil, you seem so strange! You do not kiss me as--as--you--used
to do!” faltered the trembling bride.

Harold Castello gave a low laugh and answered, lightly:

“I was your lover then, my Violet, and dared not take all the kisses I
wanted. Now I am your husband, sweet, and you are mine, all mine! and I
can feast myself at will on your sweet, red lips! And the more I kiss
you, my darling, the more intoxicated I grow, for your breath is like
wine--it thrills me with bliss, it makes me dizzy!”

With every word she recoiled farther from him, lifting up her face, and
trying to see him in the darkness of the carriage, while she almost
moaned:

“I--I--you frighten me! You do not--do not--seem like my love, Cecil!
I wish I could see your face. Your voice is so strange! It sounds
like--oh, God--like the voice of the man I hate! Release me, release
me! I die with fear! Oh, pitying Heaven, you are not Cecil! I have been
duped!”

The words died on her trembling lips, her form collapsed in a deadly
swoon.

The darkness had not saved him as he had hoped until they should reach
their destination.

His strange voice and the instincts of her own loving heart had
informed her of the truth.

But fortunately for his purpose, the realization of her awful mistake
had brought with it an unconsciousness most favorable to him.

Like a broken lily, snapped by some fierce storm-wind, she dropped
in his arms seemingly lifeless, dead for the present to her terrible
position.

He took her in his arms and held her close, murmuring:

“How very, very fortunate that she fainted at this juncture! I am saved
from using chloroform with its unpleasant after effects. Now, at the
rate Jehu is driving, we shall reach the retreat I have chosen for our
honeymoon before she revives! And, then, my bonny bird cannot escape
her cage!”




CHAPTER XXV.

A GILDED CAGE.


Ten minutes’ rapid driving brought Harold Castello to a dreary suburb
of Washington, where the carriage paused before a large, square,
brown-stone building standing in the midst of fine, well-kept grounds,
that were walled in with stone, like a prison. It had once been the
home of a wretched misanthrope, who had chosen to seclude himself from
the world he hated behind the gloomy walls that hid him from his kind
in almost prison-like solitude. The house stood far back from the road,
and there was not another one within half a mile of this lonely place,
on whose dreary walls the moonlight shone, giving it even a more than
usually forbidding aspect by contrast with its silvery radiance.

Harold Castello alighted from the carriage with unconscious Violet in
his arms, and knocked at the high stone gate with sculptured dragons
guarding the posts.

From the windows of the dreary house, not a single ray of light
gleamed forth, and it had the appearance of being totally uninhabited;
yet Harold Castello was expected, for the heavy gates were promptly
unlocked, and a man and woman were discovered standing obsequiously
within.

“Lead the way!” the young man said, impatiently, and bore his lovely
burden to the house.

The man unlocked the door and exposed a wide, tiled hall, with marble
statues glimmering whitely here and there, and a broad, shallow
stairway of black oak, dimly lighted by overhanging gas-jets. Up this
splendid stairway Harold Castello followed the woman to a magnificent
suite of rooms, luxuriously furnished in white and gold, glowing in
warmth and light and perfume, from rare vases of exotic flowers. It was
a veritable bridal-bower, and no expense had been spared to make it
worthy the occupancy of a queen.

Harold Castello entered the dainty boudoir and laid his stolen bride
upon a soft, white couch, kissed her pale, cold lips, then turned to
the woman, who had the air of a ladies’ maid.

“She has fainted. Of course you will know how to restore her, Suzanne,”
he said, anxiously.

“Yes, monsieur, you may trust me,” smiled the trim maid.

“Very well,” he said; then added: “And you may change her traveling
clothing for a pretty white _robe de chambre_, so that she will feel
more comfortable. When she is ready to see me I shall be waiting at the
door.”

He retired to a luxurious suite of rooms across the hall, to smoke
a cigar and wait, with mingled eagerness and trepidation, for the
interview with his stolen bride, the fair and hapless Violet.

Meanwhile Suzanne was busy with her unconscious charge.

She brought from the dressing-room a robe of soft, silvery white silk,
with a loose front trimmed in billowy cascades of frosty white lace.
Then she proceeded to undress Violet and array her lovely form in the
dainty garment. Then, and not till then, did she make the least effort
to restore Violet from her heavy swoon.

While she bathed the pale face and hands in _eau de cologne_, she gazed
in amazement and delight at the exquisite face and form, the curly
golden tresses, the marvelous grace of the hapless girl.

“Mon Dieu, what wealth of golden hair! What beauty! of a certainement,
zis bride is ze fairest of ze fair!” she exclaimed, in rapture.

Suddenly Violet’s fair breast heaved with returning life, her white
lids trembled, then flared wide open, and the woman beheld her charge’s
greatest charm, the splendid dark-blue eyes like violets in the spring,
touched with golden sunshine.

She gave a low cry of admiration, and drew those glorious eyes to her
face.

“I--I--oh, who are you, and where am I?” cried Violet, weakly, staring
in amazement at the dark, strange face of the French maid.

“Miladi, you are at home. You have arrived with your husband one little
while ago, remember you not?” replied the vivacious Suzanne.

Violet pressed her hand to her brow in bewilderment, and, lifting her
head, gazed about the unfamiliar apartment.

She saw a spacious apartment hung with draperies of white and gold--a
sumptuous apartment lined with massive mirrors that reflected
everywhere luxury and beauty, couches of white velvet and gold satin,
exquisite statuettes, costly pictures in richly gilded frames,
flowers everywhere, roses and violets predominating, and the whole
scene lighted softly by wax candles burning in exquisite candlesticks
fashioned like white lilies--a room fit for a queen.

Mademoiselle Suzanne waited eagerly for some cry of admiration from
miladi, but none came, and she exclaimed:

“It is beautiful, magnifique, is it not?”

The blue eyes turned back to her face.

“What is your name? What are you doing here?” asked Violet.

“Suzanne, miladi, your French maid. Monsieur, your husband, engage me
to have care of you.”

“You must not call me miladi. I am an American girl and my name is Miss
Mead.”

“Oh, madame, I crave pardon. You are married now. Do you forget? Your
name it is Mrs. Harold Castello.”

She saw the beautiful face blanch to the hue of death, heard a stifled
cry of anguish cross the pale lips, and cried out, soothingly.

“Be comforted. You have a rich and handsome husband. That is what all
the ladies desire. Is it not so?”

“Go, send that man to me. I must speak to him!” exclaimed Violet, with
flashing eyes and a tone of command.




CHAPTER XXVI.

AT BAY.


“I am here, my darling Violet, eagerly awaiting the summons to your
presence!” exclaimed Harold Castello, quickly entering the room.

She sprang from the sofa and stood up like an indignant queen to
receive him.

“Ah, how lovely you are, my fair bride, among these congenial
surroundings!” he continued, his eyes gloating on her lovely face and
form, set off so exquisitely by the white silk robe.

“A truce to compliments, sir,” Violet answered, coldly, and he started
with surprise.

He had expected tears, upbraiding hysterics, and threats from the
lovely girl he had tricked into becoming his wife.

Yet how calmly she spoke!

Was it possible she was going to take it coolly, after all--to resign
herself to the inevitable?

He devoutly hoped so, and with a smile he answered:

“I can no more help telling you of your beauty, Violet, than I can help
breathing. You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and I rejoice
that you are my bride!”

He saw a spasm of despair move the beautiful face and added, quickly:

“Ah, my adored one, forgive me for the treachery that won you! Think
how I love you, remember how rich I am and what a luxurious life you
can have as my wife. Can I not teach you to forget my rival, and to
love me?”

He threw himself at her feet, and was proceeding with his passionate
protestations, but, with a queenly gesture, she interrupted him:

“Rise, Harold Castello. I did not send for you here to listen to your
abhorred love. I summoned you to tell me how I was entrapped into this
unholy marriage.”

The calmness of despair breathed in the low, musical voice, the pallor
of despair was on the exquisite face. She was no longer the simple
girl, Violet, moved to tears or laughter at a breath; she was a woman
who had lost her love, whose life lay in ruins, whose soul quailed in
secret at its terrible betrayal.

She realized the despotic power of the man who had cheated her into
this union, she knew as well as if he had already told her that this
gilded cage was her prison, that she was surrounded by his minions,
that nothing remained to her but submission or--death. That would be
her only escape from her loathed husband.

So, with a calmness that she could not understand, she faced him:

“It’s too late for recriminations, too late for entreaties. I know your
flinty heart too well. I realize my fate too thoroughly. Only tell me
why Cecil did not come; tell me who detained him; tell me who plotted
this terrible thing?”

“Suppose I answer that it was all my own doing, Violet?”

“All your own? Then, how did you keep Cecil away? It seemed to me
that nothing but death could have kept my beloved from my side in our
bridal hour! Did you--did you”--her face blanching to yet more deadly
pallor--“meet him and murder him on his way to me?”

“Good heavens, no! Cecil Grant is alive and well.”

“And loves me still,” she cried, suddenly lifting her hand on which the
magnificent oriental opal glowed in rainbow hues. Then she saw above
it a plain gold band, and wrenching it off, flung it far from her in
disgust. “How dare you?” she half sobbed, in sudden, futile passion.

Harold Castello laughed lightly.

“As for his loving you still, that is doubtful. He believes you false
to him, and your cunning rival will perchance catch his heart on the
rebound.”

“Rival? I have no rival!” she panted, wildly.

“Do you forget your cousin, beautiful Amber Laurens?”

“My cousin Amber, my best friend--you are mad!”

Harold Castello laughed again harshly, significantly.

“Ah, Violet, what an innocent baby you are! Can you dream that an
angry, jealous rival can be turned into a friend?”

Something came into her throat, and seemed to choke her like a
murderous hand.

“Do you not remember,” he continued, “that Amber once loved Cecil
Grant, and was angry because you won him? She only duped you when she
pretended forgiveness. All the while she was working against you. It
was Amber who helped her grandfather in his pet scheme of making you my
bride. It was her revenge.”

“Revenge?” echoed Violet’s pale, writhing lips.

“Yes, she wanted you out of the way, that she might have another chance
with Cecil. She has told him you were false, that you married me
willingly, out of resentment at his delay--the delay that she planned
so cunningly.”

Her intent blue eyes invited further confidence, and without hesitation
he told her all that he knew, eager to divert her wrath against himself
to Amber.

She did not doubt one word of his story, false and wicked as she knew
him to be.

But the past rushed over her in dizzy waves--Amber’s rivalry, Amber’s
jealousy, Amber’s hate, with later looks and tones that had wounded,
although scarcely understood. Now she realized all their dreadful
import.

“She was false to your trust and plotted against you, Violet. Can you
wonder that I took advantage of the situation to win you for my own? I
loved you madly, and love is my excuse. Forgive me dearest,” pleaded
Harold Castello.

“Leave me!” she answered, with a look of proud disdain, pointing to the
door.

“You forget you are my own now. My place is by your side.”

With cold, scornful lips she replied:

“I acknowledge no right over me given by that fraudulent marriage
ceremony. I will never be your wife save in name.”

“Nonsense, Violet. These lofty airs do not become you. You had better
reconcile yourself at once to circumstances. I may as well tell you
that you are virtually a prisoner, and will remain so until you give
yourself to me with a wife’s obedience. As for your last lover, why
grieve for him? He has not a roof to shelter his poverty-stricken head
to-night, since Bonnycastle has been wrested from him by Amber’s arts.
But doubtless she will find means to console him and to make herself
his bride.”

“That is enough. Now go,” the stricken girl answered, with icy
calmness, but he laughed mockingly and answered:

“Forgive me for disobeying you, sweet one, but I should be desolate
without your company. Come Violet, one kiss, and let us get reconciled
to each other.”

He advanced a step, but her outstretched white hands waved him back.

“No nearer, as you value your life!” she cried, wildly.

He halted in consternation.

“What do you mean, Violet? Have you a hidden dagger about you?” he
demanded.

“No, I have no weapon to defend myself, Harold Castello, and yet I
solemnly swear that your life shall pay the forfeit if you force your
love upon me. Do not stare, for I will find a way to kill you unless
you leave me. I am desperate, maddened. I am your prisoner, but I shall
never be more to you than I am now! So go and leave me to my misery!”
she answered, in such a voice and with such a face, that he deemed it
politic to obey, momentarily awed by the contact with a desperate woman
at bay.




CHAPTER XXVII.

“THAT BEAUTIFUL FORM WAS MADE TO BE DRAPED IN RICH ATTIRE!”


As the door closed on Harold Castello’s form, Violet flung herself on
the couch with a choking sob.

“Oh, Heaven, how wicked I feel! There is murder in my heart!”

The wrongs she had suffered had indeed almost maddened gentle Violet.

Torn from her lover, betrayed by her cousin and her grandfather into
the power of the man she hated, hers was indeed a terrible fate. No
wonder that her gentle nature was almost frenzied by the shock, and
that she felt a mad, guilty longing to take the life of the man who had
come so fatally between her and happiness.

“I could kill him if I only had a weapon, and rejoice in my crime. Oh,
they have changed me into a fiend!” she cried, wildly.

Her loathing eyes wandered about the beautiful room that her hated
husband had prepared for her, and she shuddered in disgust, hating it
all with sickening horror.

Yet how differently she would have viewed it had it been as Cecil
Grant’s bride she had come to this place.

The beautiful rooms would have charmed her then, in her happiness with
the one she adored.

But Harold Castello’s bride! Oh, the limitless anguish and horror of
that awful thought!

  “His from the dainty foot’s slight tip
  Up to the crimson of the lip--
  His from the halo of the hair
  To the white hand’s magic in the air!

  “All her bearing seemed to say:
  I am yours. Bid me obey;
  But the rebel in my soul
  Spurns to answer your control.

  “Rich was the shadow of the room,
  And warm the shifting firelight’s bloom
  That lofty wall and ceiling wreathed;
  Heavy the perfumed air she breathed.

  “But the lightnings of her eyes
  More than swift and low replies,
  Whose music hid the words they said,
  Sharper than an arrow’s head.

  “Hushed and told him all was loss,
  All his wealth but gilded dross;
  Bars retain nor rubies buy
  Love, whose light wings cleave the sky!”

She thought with anguish of her lost lover’s cruel plight, exiled from
his ancestral home and believing her false, perhaps cursing her very
memory for the trick she had seemingly played on him in marrying Harold
Castello.

“Oh, that is the most cruel blow of all, for Cecil to believe me false
and hate my memory!” she cried, and involuntarily flung out her white
hand with a gesture of despair. The opal ring threw out a hundred
changeful, shifting lights, and she suddenly recalled the words Cecil
had uttered when he placed it on her hand:

“Let me put this little ring on your finger, precious. It is an opal,
and is gifted with the power to show whether lovers keep their faith.
If false, the gem will grow dull and lifeless, its brightness all gone;
but if true, it will glow with the fiery hues of the furnace. Wear it
always, my darling, and let it be the test of my love till the happy
day that unites us forever.”

The beautiful jewel, glowing with its rich prismatic hues, put new
faith into the heart of the poor, unhappy girl.

“He loves me still, I know it by my ring,” she cried, tenderly kissing
the gem. “He loves me still, in spite of all they have done to turn his
heart against me. Oh, Cecil, could I but escape from my prison, I would
fly to you, and you would find some means to break these cruel fetters
and set me free from Harold Castello.”

She began to turn over in her mind wild schemes for escaping from the
prison in which Harold Castello had sworn to keep her till she became
reconciled to her fate.

She knew well that she would have no help from the outside world, since
Amber had made every one believe she was gone of her own free will to
be a rich man’s bride.

Within this house she was surrounded by the minions of Harold Castello,
who were paid to keep her a prisoner. She had not a dollar of her own
to bribe them with, and no jewels of any value save Cecil’s ring. With
this she could not part.

To God alone must she look for help in this dark and fateful hour.

Dismissing her dark and evil mood, Violet fell on her knees by the
white velvet couch, and with clasped hands and earnest, upraised eyes,
prayed Heaven to aid her in this darkest hour of her young life, to
look with pity on her terrible strait and deliver her safely from the
power of the man she hated and feared. Then she prayed for her dear
lost lover, that God would comfort him in his distress, and open up
some way to save Bonnycastle from falling into the hands of her cruel
grandfather. She knew that the old man had done that cruel thing to
punish Cecil for loving her, and she lamented bitterly that through
her such harm had come to her darling.

A little comforted by her earnest prayer and the hope that God in His
infinite mercy would answer it kindly, Violet rose from her knees and
began to pace up and down the room, trying to form some plan of escape.

She was interrupted by the entrance of Suzanne with a tray of delicious
refreshments.

“You have had no supper, Mrs. Castello, so your husband ordered
something sent to you,” she said, courteously, as she set the silver
tray down on a little stand.

Violet would have delighted in the dainty edibles and exquisite fruits
at any other time, for she had the appetite of a healthy young girl,
but now she shuddered with loathing and exclaimed, imperiously:

“You may take the food away at once, Suzanne, for I shall not taste one
morsel. I have no doubt it is drugged, and I need all my senses about
me to plan my escape.”

“Escape, miladi?” with pretended surprise.

“Yes. You know perfectly well that I am a prisoner here against my
will, Suzanne, and that I shall escape at the first opportunity.”

“Oh, madame, that will ever be impossible! You are locked into this
house, watched and guarded so that you can never get free!” returned
Suzanne, with a knowing look that struck despair to the heart of her
hapless young mistress.

She cried out, desperately:

“Oh, Suzanne, you are a sister woman, and ought to have a kind heart
in your body! Have pity upon me! I will tell you all my sad story, and
surely, surely you will help me to escape!”

The tears in the beautiful blue eyes might have moved a heart of stone,
but Suzanne was pitiless, although she listened with all the curiosity
that is imputed to the female sex.

Poor Violet poured all her tortured heart into the appeal to the French
maid.

She told her, through raining tears, of her hapless love affair and
the opposition it had encountered, of her cousin’s treachery that
had brought her into this terrible pass, and she besought her aid in
escaping from Harold Castello.

When she had finished, the woman did not betray any surprise. She
simply bowed and began to argue the case, although in the most
respectful manner.

She told Violet that since she had become Mr. Castello’s wife it would
be wiser to accept the situation.

“Even if you escaped you would have nowhere to go, for your grandfather
would only return you to your husband if you went there,” she said.

“I should not return to that cruel old man and my treacherous cousin,
Amber. I should seek out my dead father’s people and throw myself on
their protection. They would help me to break this unholy marriage,”
cried Violet, desperately.

“That you might marry Monsieur Grant, the poor man; is it not so?”
queried the Frenchwoman, with a contemptuous emphasis on the epithet
“poor man.”

“Yes, that I might marry my darling Cecil,” Violet answered, proudly.

The woman gave a derisive laugh and said, curtly:

“You are a silly girl to wish to exchange a rich husband for a poor
one. No girl in her senses would do that, Mrs. Castello. Beauty like
yours, madame, so fine and rare, should be beautifully arrayed. That
beautiful form was made to be draped in rich attire; that ivory-white
neck, those finely molded wrists to be encircled in pearls and
diamonds, such as Monsieur Castello can give you. It were a shame that
a beauty like you should wed a poor man. Oh, think, miladi, you would
have to wear common calico and cook your own food; your lovely little
white hands would be soiled with dish-washing and sweeping, and soon
you would grow to hate the man who had sunk you into poverty! Perhaps
there would be little children clinging round your knees, and you would
have to toil for them, perhaps take in sewing or washing to buy bread
for them, and----”

“Hush! No more; I will not listen!” Violet cried, indignantly; then her
voice sank to a pleading cadence as she added:

“Once more, Suzanne, will you pity me? Will you help me to escape?”

“Certainly not, madame,” the woman replied, bluntly, taking up the
rejected tray of food to leave the room.

“Certainly not,” echoed Harold Castello, gayly, as he abruptly entered
again, having listened outside to the whole conversation.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

SAVED BY FIRE.


“Suzanne!” called her young mistress, sharply.

The woman halted on the threshold and looked back questioningly.

“I wish you to return and spend the night in my room.”

“_Oui_, madame,” answered the woman, retiring.

Then Violet turned passionately on the intruder.

“Leave the room, Harold Castello! I will not endure your presence!” she
cried, angrily.

His answer was a mocking laugh.

“Obey me!” she exclaimed, imperiously, her blue eyes flashing scorn.

He stood immovable, his arms folded over his breast, his dark eyes
fixed on her admiringly.

“What a magnificent beauty you are, Violet, especially when you get in
a rage! But I like you all the better for your fire and spirit. There
will be a zest in taming such a pretty tigress!” he laughed, insolently.

Her face became dead white; the lightnings of her indignant eyes might
have blasted him where he stood. In a voice that vibrated with scorn
and loathing, she cried:

“You are mad--mad! How can you dream that I will ever tolerate you?
Why, I shrink from you in abhorrence too deep for words! Can I forget
that a young girl’s ruin lies at your door, dastard? Can I forget that
your hand is red with her father’s blood--murderer? Can I ever forgive
myself that I did not risk the worst and denounce you to the law for
your fiendish crime? Ah, had I not been such a coward, had I only done
my duty and faced the consequences, I had never come to this terrible
pass!”

“Hush! hush! the walls have ears!” he hissed, with a stifled oath, and
the dew of deadly terror started out on his brow beneath the loose
waves of his jetty hair.

“I will not hush! I have been silent too long! If the voice of
conscience is dead in your heart, let me arouse it by taunting you with
your sin!” Violet cried, in a passion of loathing anger that carried
her beyond the bounds of prudence.

In another moment she realized her mistake, for, infuriated by her
scorn, Harold Castello threw discretion to the winds, and sprang toward
her, crying, maliciously:

“You shall not taunt me, lovely one, for I will smother the words on
your lips with kisses!”

His arms were outstretched, his hot breath fanned her cheek, and in
another moment he would have clasped her in his arms, but Violet eluded
him by stooping suddenly, then darting forward in breathless flight
toward the door.

With a bound, the man placed himself in her way; then commenced a
terrible pursuit that could have but one end--his victory.

Violet flew round and round the room, shrieking in terror, and pursued
by Castello, whom she cleverly eluded by darts and turns and doublings
like a fleet-winged swallow, aiming always to reach the door and escape
into the corridor, while her pursuer bent all his energies toward
preventing her exit from the room, feeling sure that her strength would
give out presently and leave her helpless at his mercy.

In this way the contest must surely have ended, for Violet was already
growing faint and dizzy, and only her deadly terror of Castello
enabled her to maintain her frenzied movements, but a sudden accident
saved her in the very nick of time.

The draught of air created in the room by the swift movements of
herself and Castello as they flew round and round blew the long lace
curtains against a cluster of wax candles in a bunch of silver lilies
on a stand close by, and the flame ignited the delicate draperies.
In another instant leaping tongues of deadly flame sprang up to the
ceiling.

The roar of the fire as it rapidly caught everything within reach and
licked out crimson tongues for more prey, struck terror alike to the
hearts of Violet and her pursuer. A cry of fear came from her lips, and
an oath from his. Both came to a pause of blank dismay that lasted but
an instant on the man’s part, then he sprang forward bravely and began
tearing down the blazing curtains, trampling them under his feet, and
throwing upon them heavy rugs caught up here and there, until in five
minutes he had the fiery element under control, although his face and
hair were scorched and his hands frightfully burned.

Then he glanced around for Violet.

Poor girl! her fictitious strength had given out just a moment too
soon. She had tottered to the door, dragged it open, then fallen down
unconscious upon the threshold.

The beautiful room was ruined, all the snowy furniture scorched or
blackened with smoke or cinders. The master of it had burned his hands
so severely that he shuddered with pain.

At that moment the vivacious Suzanne appeared, exclaiming in horror at
the wreck of the room and the spectacle of her mistress like one dead
across the threshold.

“The curtains ignited from the candles,” explained Harold Castello,
adding: “I have burned my hands fearfully in extinguishing the flames,
and must go to my doctor and have the burns dressed. You may take your
mistress into another room, Suzanne, and care for her until my return.”

He disappeared, and Suzanne brought restoratives for Violet, applying
them so skillfully that she soon opened her eyes, murmuring, languidly:

“Oh, what is this? Where am I?”

“With a friend,” murmured the French maid, significantly, and she
assisted her mistress to rise and led her into the dressing-room
adjoining the ruined boudoir.

“Lie down here on the sofa and rest, my dear,” she said, in quite a
different tone from that she had used in her former interview, and the
languid girl obeyed, for she was trembling so that she could not stand
or even hold up her golden head.

Suzanne brought her a glass of wine, but she shook her head, exclaiming:

“I will touch neither food nor drink in this house.”

“Then rest a while in quiet, and I will return to you,” the woman
replied kindly, and left the room.

She went down stairs and ascertained that Harold Castello had left the
house with his valet, to seek a physician and have his burns dressed.
The only other occupant of the house, a man-cook, was nodding sleepily
over his kitchen table with a newspaper.

The woman returned to Violet, whom she found sitting up, looking with
displeasure at the beautiful white silk gown she wore.

She said, coldly:

“Suzanne, I have just observed that you took the liberty of changing my
dress while I was in a swoon.”

“It was during your first swoon, lady, when Mr. Castello first brought
you in, and at his command.”

“Very well, Suzanne; but now I command you to bring back the traveling
dress I wore when I came. I wish to resume it.”

She had feared a refusal, but to her surprise and relief the maid
consented with alacrity and deftly assisted her to change her robe. She
even brought Violet’s hat and placed it carefully on her golden hair.

“Now you are ready for your second journey,” she said.

A quiver passed over the beautiful form, and Violet cried:

“Does that man mean to take me away from here to-night?”

“No, my lady, I am going to rescue you,” breathed Suzanne, in a low and
thrilling voice that startled Violet by its altered tone. She threw out
her white hand and clutched the woman’s arm, sobbing, hysterically:

“Oh, Heaven, can this be true? Are you indeed my friend, or,”
suspiciously, “is this a treacherous plan to lead me into some new
danger?”

“Not so loud, dear lady, lest some one overhear us,” breathed the maid.
“Sit down one moment and let me explain as rapidly as I can, for we
must be gone from this house ere Harold Castello returns.”

While Violet gazed at her in blended hope and fear she went on, in a
low, intense voice:

“Lady, I am no more a French maid than yourself. I disguised myself
and answered Castello’s advertisement for a maid to further my own
designs. My eyes are brown, to be sure; but my skin is as white, my
hair as golden as yours, only that both are darkened by a brown dye
that changes my appearance entirely. Else I should not dare venture
into Castello’s presence for fear of recognition.”

“Who, then, are you, and why----” began Violet, but the maid
interrupted:

“I am your friend and Castello’s enemy! When I talked to you so
strangely in the boudoir it was all for effect, because I knew he was
listening at the door. I bided my time to tell you the truth, and to
help you to escape from the fiend’s power!”

Violet’s eyes began to glow with hope and joy.

“Oh, may Heaven bless you and reward you for your goodness!” she cried,
clasping the speaker’s neck with grateful arms.

But with a long-drawn sigh, full of remorseful grief, the woman shrank
away, answering, fearfully:

“Lady, you might not wish to touch me if you knew who and what I am.
Have you ever heard the name of Lena Lavarre?”




CHAPTER XXIX.

“MY OWN HONOR MADE ME KEEP THE AWFUL SECRET.”


“Lena Lavarre!” cried Violet, with a start and shudder, and the woman
shrank away still farther.

“You have heard my name--my story! You shrink from me!” she cried,
humbly.

“No, no, my poor girl, I pity you!” cried Violet, and held out her hand.

Lena Lavarre took it in both her own and kissed it gratefully; then
continued:

“You know that I eloped with Harold Castello and was deceived by a mock
marriage in Chicago and then deserted. You know that my father pursued
the villain and was murdered by him. You witnessed the deed, lady, for
I heard you declare as much to Harold Castello. You taunted him with
the ruin of an innocent girl and the murder of her father.”

“It is true. I was a witness to that old man’s death at Harold
Castello’s hands,” shuddered Violet, turning deadly pale, and almost
swooning again at the recollection.

“Oh, lady, why did you not denounce the murderer, for your evidence
would have convicted him? Why did you let the case baffle all Chicago
and remain a mystery to this day, when you should have brought that
fiend to justice?” almost wept Lena Lavarre.

Violet flushed crimson, then grew deadly pale again.

“I did wrong in keeping silence, Miss Lavarre, but I will tell you how
it was. My own safety, my own honor, made me keep the awful secret.”

“Your honor, lady?”

“Yes; but you must not believe evil of me,” answered Violet, crimsoning
painfully again. She added: “I happened to be in Harold Castello’s
company by an accident that I will fully explain at another time.
But my situation was a terribly compromising one, and when I became
unwittingly a witness of the murder, Harold Castello threatened to
blacken my name irretrievably if I dared to betray him. I was young
and innocent, and terribly afraid of the world’s verdict, so I kept
his secret, and let that old man’s blood cry out in vain against his
destroyer for the sake of my own good name.”

“But you are sorry you did not risk it all, lady, now that you see
what a terrible fate it brought on you. And it is not yet too late. I
will help you to escape, and you shall denounce him to the law for the
black-hearted murderer that he is!”

A terrible groan was Violet’s only reply, and Lena continued, eagerly:

“Oh, lady, you will not surely refuse my prayer, for I have sworn to
bring home justice to my father’s slayer! And you are the only one
who can help me! Oh, when I heard you taunting him to-night my soul
rejoiced, for I knew that now I was near to my revenge--that Heaven
itself had sent you to my aid.”

“Oh, this is dreadful, dreadful!” sobbed Violet. “Hush, Miss Lavarre;
let me explain.”

“Oh, for sweet pity’s sake do not refuse me!” wept Lena Lavarre, wildly.

“But, my poor, unhappy girl, you do not understand my position. He has
married me, that fiend, to keep me silent, because no wife can testify
against her husband. Do you not know that this is the law?” explained
Violet, her heart racked with pity for the wronged girl, and stung with
remorse for the silence she had kept too long, and which now could
never be broken.

The rage and despair of poor Lena Lavarre were beyond description.

She paced up and down the beautiful apartment, raving in excitement and
breathing maledictions on her destroyer and the murderer of her father.
Her beautiful brown eyes, once so soft and tender with the light of
love, now glared wildly, almost insanely, and she seemed to forget
Violet entirely until she crept timidly to her side, and whispered:

“Is it not time for us to go if we hope to escape our enemy?”

“Yes, oh, yes--I was forgetting everything in my passion! Come, lady,”
cried Lena, catching the girl’s hand and drawing her softly forward to
the hall, “you must go as noiselessly as a cat,” she continued, as they
stole along the corridors and down the stairs to a little side entrance.

“I have found a key to this door,” whispered Lena. “The master did
not trust me very much, although I expatiated loudly on my fidelity.
But, all the same, he locked us all into the house before he left.
But I had this key ready before he arrived with his bride to-night,
for I meant you to escape. I did not trust his story of a crazy wife
who would swear that she had been carried off against her will. Step
softly, dear, lest Monsieur Cook catch our footsteps as he dozes in the
kitchen. There!” and with a sigh of relief, she pushed the fugitive
bride out before her into the moonlighted garden.

She drew Violet quickly along in the shade of some dense shrubberies.

“Do you see that high stone wall? We shall have to scale it, because
that cunning fox has locked the gate and carried off the key. Do you
dare it?”

“I should dare it if almost certain death awaited me on the other side,
so that I escaped my enemy!” Violet whispered, dauntlessly.

“Bravo! Come, then, for it may not be so dangerous in the ascent. I
know there is an old step-ladder close by. Now, then, we go up easily
enough, and drop down on the other side. There is the risk in the
descent. Let us pray Heaven to save us.”

“Amen!” murmured Violet, as she poised her lithe form on the wall for
the spring.

“Let me go first. Perhaps I can catch you,” cried Lena Lavarre; but
both of them landed almost simultaneously on the yielding grass of the
field at the back of the wall.




CHAPTER XXX.

“I WAS MAD WITH SHAME AND DESPAIR.”


“Thank Heaven, we made the jump safely,” cried Lena. She caught
Violet’s hand and drew her forward, saying, breathlessly: “There is an
old deserted cabin in the woods about two miles from here where we can
stay in hiding to-night. Harold Castello will not dream of searching
for us there. Indeed, he will be sure to think we have gone straight
to Mr. Cecil Grant, while in fact we shall be in quite an opposite
direction.”

Hand in hand they hurried toward the woods, their hearts beating wildly
with the joy of escape. Poor Violet! she was dreaming of her love
again, her dark-eyed Cecil, the idol of her dreams.

“I shall seek my own relatives, the Meads, as soon as I can, and they
will call in the law to free me from these hateful fetters. Then I
can marry my own love, my Cecil,” she thought, fondly, as she hurried
pantingly on by the side of her friend, poor, wronged Lena Lavarre.

When they reached the safe, quiet shelter of the lonely woods, they
slackened their pace and talked softly together.

“Oh, if I were only free of this hated marriage!” cried Violet; and
added: “Miss Lavarre, you told me Harold Castello deceived you by a
mock marriage. Are you sure it was not legal?”

“Call me Lena, dear lady; it sounds more friendly; and I am but a
little older than yourself, not yet nineteen,” answered the girl.

“Very well, Lena; and you shall call me Violet.”

“But I should not so presume--I on whom the shadow of such deep
disgrace is resting,” half sobbed the poor girl in her wretchedness.

“It is not a real disgrace, for you were pure and innocent at heart,
dreaming not of sin, when that villain deceived you; therefore you are
not really to blame, and I can take your hand and call you friend, and
love you,” answered Violet from the depths of her grateful heart, and
she slipped her arm around Lena’s waist and nestled closer to her side.

Her tenderness went straight to Lena’s heart and soothed some of its
sore and aching chords. Stifling back a sob, she exclaimed:

“You are like an angel to me, Violet, and I will always love you. But
now let us go back to your question, dear.”

“I asked if you were sure that your marriage was illegal?” reminded
Violet.

“It seemed very solemn to me, Violet, and the man looked just like a
preacher; but Harold Castello swore to me two weeks afterward that it
was his valet in disguise, and that he had performed the same ceremony
for him several times before with silly, trusting girls like myself.
Oh, Violet dear, I was mad with shame and despair, for I had worshiped
my handsome husband, and he seemed to adore me. And, indeed, I was
called a beautiful girl, with my dark-brown eyes, rosy cheeks, and
golden hair. But he must have wearied of my devotion, for he soon threw
me over.”

“Oh, Lena, I wish we could prove your marriage legal. Then I should be
free from my bonds and could testify against your father’s murderer,”
cried Violet, thoughtfully.

“Alas, it is vain to hope it; not that I could wish him for my husband
now, only to lift the burden of shame and grief that is killing me, for
I no longer love him. My heart turned against him when he cast me off
so heartlessly. But here we are at our refuge, dear,” said Lena, as
they came upon an old, dilapidated cabin in the very heart of the thick
woods.

She pushed open the door, and they entered the dreary place--an empty
room with a broken window, through which the moonlight poured in
ghastly gleams upon the floor.

“I have been here before,” said Lena. “There is a loft with some broken
chairs in it, and we can stay up there to-night and talk over our plans
for the future.”




CHAPTER XXXI.

“IT WILL BREAK MY HEART TO GO!”


At Golden Willows Judge Camden and Amber were quietly triumphant, and
Mrs. Shirley weakly dazed at the news of Violet’s elopement with Harold
Castello.

“I never could have believed that Violet would jilt Cecil Grant!” cried
the little widow, in surprise.

“And why not?” cried Amber, tartly. “Mr. Castello was as handsome as
Cecil, and much richer; so I suppose that when Violet saw him, his
wealth turned the scale in his favor.”

“Perhaps so,” was the meek response of the downtrodden little widow,
who would not presume to argue with any one in that house.

But in her secret heart she was surprised at Violet, who had always
been her favorite cousin, and she was very sorry for Cecil Grant. Her
sympathies went out to him because he was poor and unfortunate like
herself, and she could not help suspecting that there had been foul
play somewhere.

“For why need Violet elope with Mr. Castello when her grandfather was
willing and anxious for her to marry him at home?” she asked herself;
but she did not dare to breathe the thought aloud, although she
observed with suspicious eyes the great friendship that had grown up
between the judge and Amber.

“How did she manage to get on the good side of the old sinner? I am
sure he used to regard Violet as his favorite,” she thought, in wonder.

But Amber cared nothing for Mrs. Shirley’s suspicions. She was jubilant
over the success of her plans for getting rid of her rival.

Judge Camden had given her the promised check for twenty-five thousand
dollars, and she was now ready to carry out the second part of her
scheme, to lend the money to Cecil Grant, and so place him under a
heavy obligation that he could only requite by the offer of his hand.

Even her grandfather had been surprised at the fertility of her brain
in conceiving wickedness, and had almost shrunk at first from her
advice to buy the mortgage upon Bonnycastle and turn the Grants out.

“The whole county would be down on me, Amber, for the Grants are highly
esteemed by everybody,” he objected.

“No one would dare to blame you to your face, grandpapa, and what would
you care for their inward thoughts? You are the richest man in the
county, and it would be a triumph to let that proud Mrs. Grant feel the
weight of your power,” cried the wily Amber.

“That’s so! I’ll do it!” cried the old man, still smarting under the
sting of his rejection by the mistress of Bonnycastle, and thus Amber
gained her wish.

She waited eagerly all the morning after the elopement for a note from
Cecil to tell her he would accept the loan of her money, but none came,
and she began to grow alarmed for the success of her scheme.

“He shall take it! I will go to his mother and tempt her so that she
cannot refuse,” she decided, and set out that afternoon for a stolen
visit to Bonnycastle, not daring to let her grandfather suspect her
design.

It was a chilly afternoon in October, and Amber made herself as
charming as possible, putting on her handsomest carriage gown and a
stylish new hat just received from New York, hoping to impress Mrs.
Grant with her beauty and grandeur.

She left the carriage at the gate and walked through the grounds, now
glowing in autumnal splendor, up to the splendid old ruin with the ivy
draping its battlemented towers, hoping she might perchance meet Cecil
loitering about.

But Cecil was nowhere to be seen, and when she lifted the rusty knocker
at the hall-door, the old black servant who took her card looked at her
as angrily as if she had been the old judge himself.

“I donno as missis is to home or not--leastwise she’s berry po’ly,” she
said, drawing herself up in grim majesty, for Judge Camden’s evil deed
was known in the kitchen as well as in the parlor, and deeply resented.

“Wha’ fer she come pokin’ aroun’ here arter her old grandad done act so
shameful? S’pose he done sent her to see how po’ ole miss takes it to
be turn outer house an’ home like dis?” thought Aunt Dinah, angrily,
and Amber read her thought.

“Oh, Aunt Dinah, please don’t be angry with me for my grandfather’s
doings! I am so sorry he has foreclosed the mortgage, and I came to
tell dear Mrs. Grant that I am ashamed of it all,” cried the beauty,
so sweetly that the old woman’s anger was at once disarmed, and with
returning smiles, she ushered the visitor into the large, shabby
parlor, with its faded carpet and curtains, and took the card to her
mistress.

Mrs. Grant was in her own cozy little sitting-room, lying dejectedly
upon a sofa drawn near the glowing wood-fire in the grate, and she
looked with a weary frown at the bit of pasteboard, exclaiming:

“Amber Laurens! Why, what does the girl want with me? I should think
she would have better taste than to come to Bonnycastle now.”

“Oh, missis, she tole me dat she am real sorry her grandad act so
ugly by you, and she come to tell you so. An’, missis, she am got on
de beautifulest gown I ebber seen, all black and yaller silk, and de
fines’ hat, black velvit wid yaller canary birds onto it, as nateral as
life! I sholy did like dem fine clothes!” admitted Aunt Dinah.

“But, Dinah, I do not feel well enough to see callers to-day. You must
tell Miss Laurens to excuse me,” murmured the lady, shrinking from a
meeting with any of the household from Golden Willows.

“Oh, sho, now, missis, you can see her jes’ as well’s not, for
you needn’t go down to de parlor room at all. She can come to de
settin’-room, and talk ter yer, layin’ dere so comf’able, dere now,”
urged Aunt Dinah, thinking that the call might divert the lady’s
melancholy thoughts.

“Oh, very well, Dinah; bring her in here, then. You will always have
your way,” sighed Mrs. Grant, and the old woman retreated, chuckling,
and soon ushered the beautiful young visitor into the presence of her
mistress.

“Dear Mrs. Grant, will you pardon me for coming at this time? Oh, I
could not help it! My heart ached for your trouble. I had to come and
tell you how grieved and sorry I am, and how ashamed of poor grandpapa,
who is getting so old that he is too much under the influence of his
lawyers. They have persuaded him to do this grasping thing, I know; but
although I have begged and begged him not to do it, he will not listen
to me. Oh, do say you will not blame me!”

Mrs. Grant had risen in her iciest manner to receive the unwelcome
guest, but Amber’s gushing outburst completely disarmed her hostility.

She took the outstretched hand and lightly kissed the inviting,
upturned lips.

“You are very good, my dear girl,” she said, falteringly and made room
for Amber on her sofa, though she realized in a moment how shabby her
worn black cashmere looked by the side of the visitor’s rich striped
silk.

Aunt Dinah withdrew, with a low chuckle of satisfaction, and Amber sat
gazing with curious eyes at the mistress of Bonnycastle and thinking
how much older she had grown since only yesterday, when this crushing
sorrow had fallen upon her. The wavy dark hair was thickly streaked
with gray, the pretty face was pale, the dark eyes dim and shadowed
from constant weeping.

“Oh, Mrs. Grant, how ill you look!” pursued Amber, tenderly. “It is a
burning shame that grandpapa should have distressed you so, and I will
never forgive him--never! I told him so only this morning, but I could
not move his hard heart. But we will outwit him, dear Mrs. Grant, for I
have a plan if you will only permit me to help you.”

“You, my dear Miss Laurens!” exclaimed her hostess, doubtfully, but
with a little thrill of hope.

It would break her heart, she knew, to leave the dear old home, and she
caught eagerly at every little gleam of hope.

“Please call me Amber--Miss Laurens sounds so distant. And Cecil
always calls me Amber. We are great friends, you know,” cried the girl,
eagerly.

“Indeed?” returned the lady, with slight surprise.

She thought but did not say that it was Violet surely in whom Cecil was
so much interested.

“Oh, Mrs. Grant, you have not heard the news about Violet, I suppose?
She eloped last night with a gentleman who has been visiting at Golden
Willows--a Mr. Castello, of Chicago. Oh, how surprised you look! You
thought she was Cecil’s sweetheart, did you not? So did we all, but our
Violet was always a sad flirt, and always preferred her latest lover.
Mr. Castello was very rich, too, and that carried the day with Violet.
So off they went to Washington last night and were married. Did not
Cecil tell you?”

“No, he did not mention it. I suppose he thought it unimportant
compared with our trouble!” Mrs. Grant answered, proudly, treating the
whole matter lightly, though her heart ached in secret for her poor
boy, thus made the victim of a heartless jilt.

Amber did not wish to wound her sensitive pride too deeply, so she made
no further reference to the elopement, and began, wheedlingly:

“Dear Mrs. Grant, my heart is almost broken over this affair. I cannot
bear to have you and Cecil give up your old home and go away among
strangers. It would be very cruel for you both.”

“It will break my heart to go!” cried Mrs. Grant, choking back a sob
that rose at Amber’s sweet sympathy.

“It must not be! You shall remain at Bonnycastle!” cried the young
girl, with a resolute air.

“Ah, my dear young girl, we are compelled to go! Cecil cannot raise
the money to pay off the mortgage, and Judge Camden has sworn that
unless he does so, we must give up the place in a week. Do not distress
yourself, my sweet young friend, over our fate, for it is fixed, and I
must cultivate resignation,” sighed the unhappy lady.

“Perhaps if you would appeal in person to my grandfather----” began
Amber, but Mrs. Grant shook her head decisively.

“Never!” she replied, with flashing eyes, and lips curled in disdainful
pride.

“How she despises the old gentleman!” Amber thought, with secret
amusement, then said, aloud, gently:

“Perhaps you are right not to humble yourself to that hard old man.
And, indeed, there is no need, for you can defy his power. I can help
you to do it.”

Mrs. Grant looked in unfeigned wonder at the beautiful creature whose
face was so bright and spirited in the leaping flames of the firelight.

“My dear Amber, I do not understand you,” she answered, with a helpless
little sigh.

“I know you do not, dear Mrs. Grant, but I will soon make it clear to
you. I did not intrude on you this morning to offer useless sympathy,
but to give you real help. I have a little fortune of my own, quite
independent of my grandfather, and I will lend you the money to pay off
the mortgage on Bonnycastle and keep your home.”

The startling words were spoken, and Mrs. Grant could not answer, from
sheer surprise.

She had not known that either of the nieces of Judge Camden possessed a
dollar in their own right, and she instantly decided that some of her
father’s relatives had left Amber a legacy. But her kindly sympathy,
her generous offer of so large a sum struck her dumb.

Amber saw the effect of her words and exulted. Without waiting for a
reply, she continued, eagerly:

“Do not refuse my offer, Mrs. Grant, for it will make me very happy
to enable you to pay off the mortgage and remain at Bonnycastle. And
grandpapa need never know the truth. My money is under my own control,
and I can convey it to you without his knowledge. Oh, how proud and
glad I should be to do this small favor for you and your dear son!”

“This is very noble, very unexpected, and very--tempting--to me, dear
Amber; but--but--I am sure it would not be right to accept. Cecil is
very proud,” Mrs. Grant sobbed, almost breaking down in her gratitude
to the fair young girl, her eagerness to accept her offer, and her
consciousness that Cecil was far too proud to accept this favor from
Judge Camden’s granddaughter.

Amber did not tell her that she had already spoken to Cecil on the
subject. She answered, hopefully:

“I cannot believe that Cecil would be so cruel as to let you leave
Bonnycastle, if by any fair means he can retain it for you. I know he
loves you very dearly, and would be willing to sacrifice his pride a
little for your dear sake. May I stay with you, dear friend, till he
comes, and we will plead with him together?”

“Yes, stay, dear,” was the glad reply.




CHAPTER XXXII.

LENA LAVARRE’S STORY.


The two girls, Violet and Lena, spent the remaining hours of the night
in the garret of the lonely old woodland cabin.

As there was no bed, they could not sleep, but indeed they were so
excited that they did not care to do so. They preferred to remain awake
and discuss their plans for the future.

Although Violet was wild to communicate at once with Cecil Grant, she
permitted Lena to persuade her that it would be unwise to attempt it
yet.

“Harold Castello will be watching him very closely, and detection might
follow on the slightest correspondence. It is best to wait a while,”
she said.

For the same reason Violet’s first intention of seeking her father’s
relatives was tabooed, since it was natural that suspicion should be
directed toward them.

“Your best plan is to come home with me to my poor widowed mother, and
remain a while in hiding,” advised Lena Lavarre.

“But I have no money, dear Lena.”

“That makes no difference, my friend, for we have a cozy little home of
our own. Ah, would that I had never left it at the temptings of that
black-hearted scoundrel who won my heart and betrayed my trust!” sighed
Lena, with unavailing remorse.

“Tell me how it happened, please,” cried Violet, with girlish curiosity
over a love affair.

The poor girl dashed the bitter tears from her brown eyes and answered:

“It is a very simple story, dear Violet, though it ended so tragically.
To begin at the beginning, I made his acquaintance in a way that I am
ashamed of now--by a street flirtation! Pretty young girls are often
very vain and thoughtless; I’m afraid I was both, for I delighted
in the admiring glances I met from gay young men upon the street. I
forgot to tell you that my home is in Washington. My poor father was
a druggist, and we had a neat little home of our own. I was the only
child. Father and mother had married late in life, and they fairly
doted on me, and gave me all the advantages they could afford. Ah, how
good they were to me, and how poorly I repaid their love!” sighed the
unhappy and repentant girl.

“Poor Lena!” murmured Violet, tenderly, and, choking back a sob, the
girl continued:

“I was called very pretty, and I kept company with some very gay young
girls in my own class of life. We delighted in dressing in our best and
promenading on Pennsylvania avenue, where we were guilty of flirting in
a way that makes me bitterly ashamed now, for I realize too late that
no pure young girl who respects herself should stoop to court attention
and admiration from strangers. But I was giddy and thoughtless, my
companions the same, and thus I made the acquaintance of the man
who wrecked my life. He was handsome, as you know, and a few chance
meetings and stolen glances completed the conquest of my silly heart.
I permitted him to call on me at my home, and he told me that he lived
in Chicago, and if I made a visit to the great World’s Fair he would be
pleased to escort me through its wonders. He would return home in a
week and ardently wished I were going then, so that he might have the
pleasure of my company.

“To hasten over this unpleasant story, I begged my parents to take me
to the great fair, but they refused to do so, and desired me to put the
notion out of my head. They also disapproved of my fine new lover, and
bade me drop his acquaintance.

“Smarting with resentment, I told Harold everything. A few secret
meetings followed, then he persuaded me to elope with him. I agreed,
and we were married, as I thought, by a Methodist minister and left for
Chicago.

“Violet, I believe, before Heaven, that he loved me at first as much as
it is possible for such a nature to love. He gave me one week of the
wildest happiness. Some days we attended the Fair, on others we visited
the sights of the great city. He often called me wife, and the servants
in the hotel called me Mrs. Stanley, for that was the name I knew him
by at first. But as the days went by he seemed to weary of me. He
indulged in drink, and became coarse and brutal, declaring that he had
acted hastily in bringing me away with him. At last--why need I linger
over it?--he told me to go, that I was not his wife--never had been!
When I came to myself, having fallen in a faint at his cruel words, I
found myself deserted, with a purse of gold by my side, and a curt note
bidding me return to my parents.

“I retained my senses just long enough to have a telegram sent my
father to come for me, then I collapsed, and brain fever set in. My
father arrived, and from my raving gathered the terrible story of my
deception and desertion by Stanley, as he called himself.

“I shall never know how it all came about, perhaps, Violet, for it was
a mystery from beginning to end; but while I still lay on my sick-bed,
ill unto death, my poor father was found lifeless in a vile house in
the city--murdered, with a knife thrust in the heart. No evidence
was produced to prove who was his murderer, and to-day he lies in an
unavenged grave--my poor, poor father, who was so fond of his little
Lena.

“But, Violet, I have never doubted how my father came to his death.
He was no doubt on the track of my betrayer. He found him, and in
an altercation was murdered by the man I afterward found was Harold
Castello, a fast young man of Chicago. But I could not bring home his
guilt to him, although I have been on his track ever since my recovery.
But now all is different, dear, for you saw him commit the murder. You
can help me to bring it home to him.”




CHAPTER XXXIII.

AN ADMIRING STRANGER.


Violet had been sobbing softly at the recital of her friend’s sorrows,
but now she lifted her fair head, and dashing the tears from her eyes,
answered, tenderly:

“I will tell you the whole harrowing story, Lena, for I was indeed the
horrified witness of your poor father’s death, and the memory of that
scene will never leave me while life lasts!”

Lena pressed her cold little hand and waited anxiously for her to begin.

“I must tell you first how I came to be in Chicago at that time,” said
Violet. “You see, I was at boarding-school, and last June our lady
principal and her senior class formed a party to attend the World’s
Fair together for a stay of ten days or so. I wrote to grandpapa, and
he readily gave his consent to the plan and inclosed me a generous
check for expenses. On the first of June our party, consisting of Mrs.
Maynard, our teacher, and ten young girls, arrived in Chicago, full of
joyous anticipations over the wonderful sights we were to see.

“As you have been to the Fair yourself, my dear Lena, I need not
dwell on its glories, but only remind you that among the hurrying
throngs that filled the immense palaces on every hand, it was utterly
impossible for such a large party to keep close together. Mrs. Maynard
realized this the first day, and directed her young charges that in
the event of getting separated from each other, we should all meet her
at the closing hour at the Virginia Building, in order to go home
together. We found this plan worked nicely, affording each a better
opportunity to inspect the buildings that appealed most strongly to our
individual tastes.

“On the ninth day of our attendance at the Fair we separated into
parties. Mrs. Maynard and three girls decided to spend that day at the
Woman’s Building, two girls went to the Midway Plaisance, two more to
the Electric Building, and two more to the Building of Liberal Arts and
Manufactures. I found myself alone in the eager desire for a whole day
in the magnificent Art Gallery.

“There seemed no possible harm in leaving me there alone, and Mrs.
Maynard consented to my wish, saying, kindly:

“‘I can trust you, Violet, I know, to meet me at the Virginia State
Building at six o’clock.’

“‘Surely,’ I replied, and she kissed me and turned away with the three
girls toward the Woman’s Building, while I ran lightly up the steps
of the magnificent Art Palace, thrilling with anticipations of the
pleasures in store for me in the contemplation of the wonders of art.
Securing a catalogue at the door, I plunged into the eddying throng
that filled the rooms, and gave myself up to the keenest delight.

“The hours passed like minutes, and I never even remembered the
luncheon hour in the feast of pictures and statuary spread before my
appreciative eyes. Oh, how sorry I was that I should have but the one
day for viewing all the wonders of this building!

“But you have seen and enjoyed the Art Palace, Lena, so let me hurry
on,” cried Violet, as she continued:

“Quite late in the afternoon I observed that a very handsome and
elegant young man seemed to be making the tour of the same rooms as
myself, and even seemed attracted by the same pictures, so that he kept
near me almost all the time. I was a little annoyed at first, fancying
he wished to strike up a flirtation with me, but by completely ignoring
him, I kept my suspected admirer at a distance, and finally I saw him
turn aside into another room and supposed myself rid of his polite but
admiring espionage.

“Relieved at the thought, I continued my tour of the rooms until it
grew late, and I hastily looked at my watch. But, after the careless
habits of womankind, I had neglected to wind it that morning, and it
had run down.

“Turning to an old lady near me, I inquired the time, and was told it
was half-past five o’clock. I thanked her and decided that I could
remain some little time longer, as it would not take me over ten
minutes to walk to the Virginia Building.

“At the same time I observed that the crowd was rapidly thinning out,
and the next moment a Columbian guard came through the rooms, telling
the people that it was six o’clock and the building would now be closed.

“My old lady’s watch had been too slow, and I realized with dismay that
my friends at the Virginia Building must be very impatient waiting for
my return.

“Walking as rapidly as I could to the entrance of the Art Palace, I
discovered, to my surprise, that the heavens were pouring out a perfect
deluge of rain. It was so dark as to look like twilight. The ground was
covered with a miniature river, and the vast crowds of people were
moving toward the various gates under a forest of umbrellas.

“Alas! I had lost my own umbrella that morning on coming out, and had
rather rejoiced in my ill-fortune, it had proved such a nuisance to
carry through the crowds.

“I stood at the top of the broad steps, dismayed at the thought of
venturing into that awful downpour in the thin costume I had worn for
comfort this warm day. I realized that in less than five minutes I
should be soaking wet, and not being very hardy, might probably suffer
an attack of illness from the effects.

“Suddenly an ingratiating voice sounded by my side:

“‘Permit me to offer my umbrella, miss.’

“I glanced up into the eager dark eyes of the young man I had seen so
often in the building that afternoon.

“I shrank with instinctive dislike, and was about to utter a nervous
refusal, and plunge out into the pouring rain, when a loud clap of
thunder and a vivid flash of lightning made me draw back in terror so
great that I could not speak the words that trembled on my lips.

“‘This is dreadful!’ exclaimed the young man, holding the umbrella
carefully over my head to shield me from the storm. ‘You had better
draw back out of the rain, miss, and when it holds up I will escort you
to the gates and find a carriage for you.’

“‘Oh,’ I cried, my anxiety loosening my lips, ‘my friends are waiting
for me at the Virginia Building! I cannot wait, for they will be uneasy
over my delay.’

“‘At least take my umbrella!’ he exclaimed, so kindly that I hesitated.

“‘I cannot rob you of it, sir,’ I replied.

“‘Then permit me to hold it over your head, if you must go,’ he
returned, gently, and drawing my hand through his arm, hurried politely
down the steps.

“We reached the Virginia Building, but it was closed and deserted. Mrs.
Maynard and the girls were gone.

“‘They are probably waiting for you at the gate. I will conduct you to
them,’ said my companion, and we joined the draggled, hurrying throngs
that were rushing toward the Fifty-seventh street entrance. Alas! in
the twilight gloom, the pouring rain, and the rush and confusion, my
friends were not to be found.

“I was wretchedly uncomfortable, my feet soaked, my heart heavy with
an indefinable horror that I thought was fear of a scolding from Mrs.
Maynard, but which I realize now was an awful presentiment of what
was hanging darkly over me. I was on the very point of bursting into
babyish tears when my companion said, kindly:

“‘It seems impossible to find your friends in this confusion, miss, and
it would be better to take a carriage and go straight to your hotel,
where you will probably find them awaiting you.’

“I assented, and, after some delay, he secured a carriage, and when
I had named my hotel, he spoke to the driver, then sprang into the
carriage by my side.

“‘Oh, sir, this is not necessary. You need not accompany me,’ I
protested, in strange haste to get rid of my handsome escort.

“‘I beg your pardon, but I had better see you safely with your
friends,’ he replied, so gallantly that I feared I had seemed
discourteous, and let him have his way. After all, I reflected, he had
been very kind and respectful; I really had no grounds for dreading him.

“While we drove along the rainy streets, he told me that his name was
Adelbert Stanley, and that he lived in Chicago. I returned his courtesy
by giving him my own name, and added the particulars of my visit to the
World’s Fair with my teacher and friends.

“By this time we had reached our destination. The carriage stopped,
Mr. Stanley handed me out, and led me up the steps of a large, gloomy
looking house that in the still pouring rain I did not notice bore no
resemblance to my hotel. But when I was led along a broad hall into a
garishly furnished apartment, I stared about me in sudden alarm.

“‘This is not my hotel! the room is perfectly strange to me!’ I cried,
starting toward the door in haste to get away.

“‘No, no, there is no mistake in the hotel. A blundering servant has
simply shown you to the wrong room. Please remain here quietly a minute
while I have the mistake rectified,’ returned Mr. Stanley, with a
pleasant smile, as he went out, leaving me alone and half terrified in
the room.”




CHAPTER XXXIV.

    “I WISH I COULD WARN EVERY YOUNG GIRL IN THE LAND TO
    BEWARE OF FASCINATING STRANGERS AND SILLY FLIRTATIONS!”


Lena Lavarre was listening with breathless interest to every word that
fell from the lips of Violet. The full flood of moonlight pouring
through the curtainless window of the otherwise unlighted room, showed
her face strained and eager, her brown eyes dilated and gleaming.

But not a word came from her parted lips to break the thread of the
speaker’s narration; she was too eager to come to the climax.

Violet drew a long, sobbing breath, and continued:

“I waited impatiently for about ten minutes, when Mr. Stanley suddenly
returned, followed by a servant with a tray containing an elegant
repast, which she proceeded to arrange on a table. In the meantime the
young man said, easily:

“‘You were right, Miss Mead. The stupid driver brought us to the wrong
place; but, unfortunately, he has gone, so I had to send out and order
another carriage, which will soon be here. In the meantime I judged it
wise to order refreshments for you, as it grows late and you must feel
the need of food.’

“Nothing could have been more kind and respectful than his manner,
yet a dark cloud of terror brooded over my mind. I knew well that
many gay young girls would have regarded the affair as only a merry
lark, without suspecting evil; but I was full of apprehension over the
anxiety Mrs. Maynard and my schoolmates were suffering. I was afraid
of a scolding, and I was vaguely distrustful of the elegant young man
who had taken me under his protection in such a masterful way. So,
although I was almost sinking with weariness and fear, and had taken no
food since breakfast, I felt no sensation of hunger; and, shaking my
head dolefully, I declared that I could not eat.

“The attendant had left us alone now, and Mr. Stanley poured out a
glass of wine and offered it to me.

“‘At least drink this claret,’ he said, in a pleading tone. ‘You are
wet and chilled, and a glass of wine may prevent your taking a heavy
cold.’

“I knew that what he said was true, but a subtle instinct warned me not
to place the tempting glass to my lips, and we were beginning to have
quite an argument, he insisting, I refusing, when, suddenly, the door
was burst violently open, and an old gray-haired man rushed into the
room.

“He sprang toward my companion, clutching his arm with a haste that
made him drop the glass of wine, to shiver into a hundred fragments on
the floor. He turned quickly, and they were face to face, both seeming
to forget my presence.”

“Ah!” breathed Lena Lavarre, like one awaking from a trance of horror,
her deep eyes burning on Violet’s face.

With a violent shudder, the young girl proceeded:

“‘Ah, Adelbert Stanley, you know me, do you not?’ cried the old man,
hoarsely and angrily. ‘I am the father of Lena Lavarre, the poor girl
you betrayed by a mock marriage, and deserted in this great, wicked
city, and I have tracked you down! I saw you entering this place, and I
followed you to demand justice!’

“‘Justice!’ sneered the infamous betrayer of innocence.

“Mr. Lavarre made a great effort at calmness, and answered:

“‘Yes, justice, Mr. Stanley. I ought to kill you, but what would that
avail my disgraced daughter, my only child? I despise you, but you must
remove the stain from Lena’s name, and make her your wife in reality.’

“The young man laughed derisively, but Mr. Lavarre added:

“‘Lena lies upon a bed of illness from which she may never arise; but
I demand that you come with me this moment and make my poor child your
legal wife, that she may rest at least in an honest woman’s grave!’

“It was pitiful, the sorrow of that old gray-haired father. My tears
fell like rain.

“But Mr. Stanley was pitiless. He mocked at the old man and his
deceived daughter, and refused the outraged father’s demand with
insulting words that made my very blood run cold. Ah, he was a fiend in
human shape!”

“A fiend!” echoed poor Lena Lavarre.

“His insulting words seemed to cut the old man to the heart, and beat
down the barriers of self-control that he was trying to hold intact.
His face paled with wrath, his eyes blazed, and he sprang wildly at
Stanley’s throat, catching it in his long thin fingers. There was a
moment’s struggle, then--I caught the gleam of a slender dagger in
Stanley’s hand, and--the next moment it was sheathed in the old man’s
heart! With a groan, he fell dead at his murderer’s feet!”

“Father!” moaned the hapless Lena, and her head sank on her breast.

Violet thought, for a moment, she had fainted, but presently she lifted
her head, sighing in a hollow voice:

“It was just thus I fancied my poor father died! But, oh, Violet,
I feel myself accessory to his death! If I had only listened to my
parents’ advice, if I had not been an ungrateful, disobedient daughter,
this sorrow had never come upon me. Oh, Heaven, to think of my dead
father, my widowed mother, my own wrecked life, and all for one man’s
sin! Oh, I wish I could lift up my voice in clarion tones and warn
every young girl in the land to beware of fascinating strangers and
silly flirtations!”

With a bursting sob of keen remorse and agony, her head again sank on
her breast.

Silence reigned a little while, and through the broken pane of the
garret window the moonlight streamed on the two unhappy girls crouching
together with aching hearts.




CHAPTER XXXV.

“A YOUNG GIRL’S HONOR IS DEARER THAN HER LIFE.”


Violet sobbed violently for some moments, then murmured, tremblingly:

“Can you listen to the rest, Lena, so that we may be done with this
tragic subject?”

She was eager to unburden her mind of its bitter secret so long hidden
in her tortured breast.

“Yes, tell me all,” sighed the hapless girl, and Violet resumed:

“When I saw your poor father fall, weltering in his blood at the
murderer’s feet, I was so horrified that I could not utter the shriek
that rose to my lips. My tongue seemed paralyzed, my limbs relaxed, and
I dropped half-fainting into a chair.

“I saw the murderer start across the room and turn the key in the lock;
then he looked back, and the sight of me seemed to blast his eyes. I
heard him murmur, with an oath, that he had forgotten me, that he would
have to kill me to silence my tongue.

“Ah, Lena, you know that life is sweet to all of us, especially the
young and fortunate! Fancy my horror when I heard that I, too, must die!

“I was about to shriek aloud, but with flaming eyes he rushed to me and
clapped his hand so rudely over my mouth that my lips were bruised.

“‘Be silent, or you shall share that old man’s fate!’ he hissed,
savagely, in my ear.

“I dared not speak, but my dilated eyes must have expressed my horror
and aversion, for he went on, as if in apology:

“‘I did it in self-defense, you know, for the old wolf was choking me
to death!’

“I could not answer for the cruel hand upon my lips. He still held it
there as he proceeded:

“‘I do not like to kill you, for I am charmed with your beauty, and it
would be terrible to kill such a fair young girl. But my own life is at
stake, and I must look to myself. If I spare you, if I let you go free,
will you take an oath never to betray me?’

“He released my lips, and I cried, indignantly:

“‘It would not be right for me to shield you, Mr. Stanley. You have
betrayed an innocent young girl and murdered her father! You are not
fit to live!’

“‘So you would like to denounce me to the law?’ he sneered, but I could
see that he was very uneasy.

“‘Yes,’ I replied, frankly, as I turned my shuddering eyes away from
the sight of the bleeding corpse upon the floor.

“He was silent a moment, gazing into my eyes with a hard, mesmeric
gaze, but I shuddered and looked away. He sighed, and said:

“‘I cannot bring myself to kill you, as I killed that old man in the
heat of passion; you are too beautiful to destroy in wanton malice. I
will reason with you, and show you why you must, in self-defense, keep
the secret of this old man’s death.’

“I listened defiantly, for I was determined, if I escaped, to denounce
him. My heart was burning with sympathy for the wronged girl and her
murdered father.

“But the first words he uttered were these astounding ones:

“‘If you should escape and betray me, you would at once blacken your
own character irretrievably.’

“I stared at him in horror and dismay, and he smiled grimly as he added:

“‘When it became known that you were here with me alone, in one of the
vilest houses in Chicago--a house that no decent lady would dare to
enter--what would the world say of you, Miss Mead?’

“As I gasped for breath to answer, he added, tauntingly:

“‘I fell in love with you at the Fair, and determined to make you my
own. Fate played into my hands, and I succeeded in fooling you into
this house, and I never meant to let you go until I had wearied of my
new toy. That wine was drugged, and I would have forced it down your
throat only for the entrance of that old man! Well, I have no time to
linger in love’s dalliance now! I must escape before this crime is
found out. I must let you go, lovely one, still pure and innocent. That
is,’ darkly, ‘if you will promise to let me go free and keep your lips
sealed on the events of this night. Refuse, and--you are still in my
power!’

“Oh, Lena, the awful threatening, the dread import of his looks and
words almost struck me dead at his feet! I gasped, like one dying:

“‘Open the door and let me go, and I will never betray your agency in
this awful deed!’

“He knew I spoke the truth; he knew that a young girl’s honor is dearer
to her than life. His awful secret was safe in my hands.

“‘You shall go unharmed,’ he said. ‘I am sorry to give you up, but it
is the price I must pay for my crime. Luckily I brought you in by a
private door, and no one saw your face. It need never be known that
one of the most beautiful and virtuous girls in the world entered this
house, and after remaining half an hour, left it as pure as when she
came into it. That old man’s death saved your honor, beautiful one. Now
come,’ and drawing my vail close, I followed him unnoticed into the
street, where the rain was still pouring in sheets like another deluge.

“‘You must endure my presence until I can find you a carriage,’ he
said; but this was soon accomplished, and I thanked Heaven when the
carriage door closed on his evil, smiling face, and I was rolling
toward my hotel.

“Mrs. Maynard and the girls were wild with joy to see me. They had
sought me vainly in the Fair grounds and outside, and then returned to
the hotel, hoping to find me there. I told them the truth, as nearly
as I could, that I had missed them at the Virginia Building, and a
gentleman had secured a carriage for me and sent me home. As I told it,
it seemed a very commonplace story, and no one dreamed of the secret
tragedy it held--not even when Chicago was ringing the next day with
the story of the mysterious murder of an old man at a notorious house
in the suburbs. I was ill with a deep cold during our remaining time in
Chicago, and went out no more until my return to Virginia.”

In a few more words Violet told of her grandfather’s visit to Chicago,
his acquaintance with Harold Castello, and the attempt to force an
elopement which had ended so disastrously in her wedding the wrong
man. Harold Castello had doubtless brooded over the fear of Violet
betraying him until he had decided that the safest plan was to make
her his wife, and thus place it forever out of her power to testify in
a court of law to his infamous crime, the murder of a noble old man
whose innocent daughter he had cruelly betrayed.

While she was talking the moon went down, and the first gray beams of
daylight began to lighten the darkness of the world.

Lena Lavarre rose and took Violet’s hand.

“We will go home now to my mother,” she said. “Our house is but two
miles from this place, and we can soon reach it. Our enemy will never
think of looking for you there. He believes that poor Lena Lavarre died
in Chicago of brain fever, and he would not suspect you of knowing her
mother.”

Hand in hand they stole from the old house out into the frosty woods,
creeping timorously along, and starting in fear if a dry twig crackled
under their feet, or a dead leaf rustled overhead, for they were flying
from a pitiless fiend whom they feared and abhorred, and every moment
was an hour until they struck into the quiet suburban street where
Lena’s widowed mother lived alone in a pretty little six-roomed cottage.

Mrs. Lavarre was her daughter’s confidante in everything now, and so
she was not much surprised when she returned, bringing with her a
beautiful stranger guest. She welcomed Violet very kindly, and soon set
before them a nice warm breakfast, after which they retired to sleep
off the chill and fatigue of the cold night spent in the woodland hut.




CHAPTER XXXVI.

MRS. SHIRLEY’S TROUBLE.


Several days passed very quietly and uneventfully at Golden Willows;
for, strange to say, Harold Castello did not come there to seek for his
fugitive bride.

Amber was bright and happy, and gave herself up to the entertainment of
company. Whenever this source of amusement failed her, she stole away
to Bonnycastle, where she was now a welcome visitor.

Judge Camden suffered from twinges of his old enemy, the rheumatism,
and Mrs. Shirley moped in her most doleful fashion. Indeed, she was
once or twice surprised by the old gentleman in tears.

When he caught her for the third time surreptitiously wiping her eyes,
his wrath broke bounds, and he demanded, curtly:

“Now, what the duse is the matter with you, madame? Always going about
red-eyed and sniveling.”

Mrs. Shirley protested meekly that nothing ailed her but a bad cold.

“Come, now, that is a fib, old lady. Tell me the truth immediately! Has
anybody been treading on your feelings?” cried the old man, whimsically.

“No-o-o, sir.”

“Is anybody dead, then?”

“Oh, I hope not, sir; but----” and the meek little widow’s voice broke
in a stifled sob. Judge Camden eyed her in silence a moment, then
thumped his stick on the floor and made her jump, thus revealing her
reddened eyes and grief-stricken countenance.

“Aha! so there is something the matter! Out with it now!” he exclaimed,
in his sternest voice.

“Oh, sir--please, it is nothing--only--only--I don’t want to offend,
sir--but--I’m troubled over--Violet.”

His grim countenance reddened with anger.

“Troubled over Violet, eh? And why, may I ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but I’m afraid she isn’t happy!” and the poor old
woman trembled all over.

“Not happy! I don’t see why,” he muttered, grimly. “Wouldn’t you be
happy, Mrs. Shirley, if you were young and beautiful and off on your
bridal tour with a rich and handsome husband?”

“Not if I didn’t love him, judge,” she quavered, faintly.

“What the duse do you mean? Didn’t Violet love Mr. Castello?”

“Oh, sir, you know she didn’t. She told me every day how much she hated
him, and how she adored Cecil Grant.”

Mrs. Shirley had gone too far to retreat now, although her teeth were
chattering with terror of his anger. But her whole sympathies were with
Violet, and she could not keep back the words.

Judge Camden’s eyes snapped viciously, and he cried:

“If she didn’t love Mr. Castello, why did she marry him, eh?”

“That’s what is troubling me,” returned Mrs. Shirley, frankly. “I know
she hated him; and when Amber told me she had run off to marry him, it
gave me a dreadful turn, for I thought what if he stole her off against
her will?”

“Tut, tut, tut! what a silly old woman! Violet married him for spite,
if you must know the truth! It was Grant she was going to elope with,
but he failed to meet her at the church, and Castello followed her
there and pleaded his cause so well that she forsook her laggard lover
and married him instead. That is the story, as Amber told it, and I
think myself that Violet did a wise thing in giving young Grant the
slip; although I ought to cane him for not keeping his appointment with
my granddaughter.”

Mrs. Shirley was dazed at this plausible explanation, but, true to her
colors, she cried, sadly:

“Oh, I am very, very sure that something dreadful must have happened
to keep Cecil away, for he is a very noble young man, and----” she was
going on tremulously, but he interrupted, with a frowning brow:

“That will do, madame; no more praises of that young scamp, if you
please! I knew,” sarcastically, “that the young ladies of my family
were both in love with the beggar; but an old woman like you ought to be
thinking of something else besides a handsome young man!”

“Judge Camden, I----”

But the tormenting old wretch added, teasingly:

“You need not encourage his attentions, madame, for I should refuse my
consent, just as I did in Violet’s case.”

The insulted old lady hurried from the room, weeping indignant tears,
and Judge Camden laughed maliciously at the way in which he had routed
Cecil’s friend.

But it made him unreasonably angry to know how every one admired the
manly young fellow, who was so noble and true, and who was struggling
against such overwhelming odds in the battle of life. The judge was not
really a wicked man, and he would have pitied and admired any other
such hero, and have offered him a helping hand; but he hated Cecil for
his mother’s sake, and was pitiless. Only that day the young man had
argued and gained a case in court before him, and the judge would have
admired his masterly speech had it been any one else; but for Cecil he
had only anger, and perhaps a spice of envy; for the old man well knew
that any girl, rich or poor, in the whole county, would have been glad
to marry the handsome and noble though impoverished heir of Bonnycastle.

While he sat fuming over his unpleasant thoughts, the clang of the
door-bell penetrated to the library where he sat, and presently a
servant entered with a card.

“Mr. Grant begs the favor of a short interview,” he said.

The judge viewed the card with round-eyed wonder and astonishment.

“Well, well, well! What business can the young jackanapes have with me?
But show him in,” he ejaculated, and the next moment Cecil Grant bowed
himself over the threshold, and into the presence of his surprised and
wondering enemy.

From her window above Amber had watched Cecil approach, and her heart
beat tumultuously as she drew back into the shadows, picturing to
herself the surprise and chagrin of the old judge at learning the
object of the young man’s call.

“How he will fume and wonder!” she thought, maliciously, for Amber had
triumphed again.

Mrs. Grant’s entreaties had overcome Cecil’s sturdy pride, and, to
save her heart from breaking at leaving the dear old home, he had
reluctantly accepted the loan of the twenty thousand dollars to pay
off the debt on Bonnycastle.

“And I wish,” cried Amber, fervently, “that I had twenty thousand more
to give you to restore the dear old place to its pristine splendor; for
I do love Bonnycastle, with all my heart!”

Mrs. Grant beamed with pleasure and gratitude on the fair schemer, and
Cecil murmured his thanks in a husky voice, and with a heavy heart, for
although he said no word to his mother, he had an innate conviction of
what Amber would expect in return for her generosity. He knew that the
old love, so cleverly masked for a while under the guise of friendship,
still lived in her heart, and how could he pay the loan he had accepted
from her but by the sacrifice of his life, by offering his hand and
name, without the heart that still belonged to Violet?

So it was a heavy heart that he carried with him into the old judge’s
presence; and when the wicked girl saw him come forth again fifteen
minutes later, his head drooped dejectedly on his breast, and there
was no triumph in his walk, although he had paid off his debt to Judge
Camden and saved Bonnycastle for his doting mother. He was indeed
overwhelmed with shame and pain at having accepted such a favor from a
woman--and especially a woman he did not love.

Amber guessed something of the humiliation that bowed that dark head
toward the earth, and her lips contracted with pain.

“He is wretched because his mother forced him to accept a favor from
me; but if it had been Violet instead, how differently he would have
felt!” she thought, bitterly; then broke into a choking sob. “Oh,
Heaven, why is it that I cannot win his love when I worship him so
dearly?”

At that moment her maid appeared at the door.

“Judge Camden wishes to see you in the library.”

Assuming an indifferent look, although her heart beat wildly, she
sought her grandfather’s presence.

He was pacing the library in high excitement. Turning, at her entrance,
he exclaimed:

“I have startling news for you! Cecil Grant has just left here!”

“Yes, grandpapa, I saw him from my window leaving the house, and I was
wild with curiosity to know what had brought him to Golden Willows.”

“You could not guess in a year,” he replied, with an air of conviction.

“I am sure I could not, dear grandpapa, for of course he did not come
to accuse you of treachery in Violet’s marriage to Mr. Castello.”

“Violet’s name was not mentioned between us. He did not stay above
fifteen minutes, and the interview was purely a business one.”

Amber, with knitted brows and a puzzled air, exclaimed:

“Surely he was too proud to plead with you to let him stay longer at
Bonnycastle! I have heard that his mother’s heart is breaking because
she has to leave it, but I did not think that Cecil would humble
himself even for her dear sake.”

How superbly she acted her surprise and wonder. If the old man had
had the least lurking suspicion that she had lent Cecil money, her
insouciance completely deceived him, and he replied, angrily:

“No indeed; my Lord Grant of Bonnycastle, Virginia would not humble
his proud crest to living man, you may be sure. It was a mission of
triumph, not humiliation, that brought him this afternoon to Golden
Willows. In short, the young beggar had got hold of twenty thousand
dollars--the Lord only knows where!--and he paid off the debt on
Bonnycastle, and took my receipt!”

“Grandpapa, you amaze me, you astonish me! Where in the world did Cecil
Grant get the money?”

Amber’s surprise was grandly acted. She was a consummate actress, and
met his keen gaze with innocent eyes of wonder.

“I have no idea where he got it,” the judge rejoined, testily. “But he
borrowed it, I suppose. He gave me a check on a Washington bank where
he said the money was on deposit.”

“I have never had such a surprise in my life!” declared Amber; but her
further protestations were interrupted by a knock at the door.

A servant appeared, saying that there was a strange man at the door,
who would not come in, but wished to see the judge on particular
business.




CHAPTER XXXVII.

JUDGE CAMDEN TAKES A STRANGE JOURNEY.


Amber could not understand the uneasy thrill that went through her at
the mention of this stranger wanting to see the judge. She sank almost
terrified into a chair, while the old man went to the hall-door to
receive the visitor.

Yet there was nothing unusual about the matter, nothing that could
possibly affect her, she thought over and over, to allay her strange
excitement; but when her grandfather returned, she sprang up, pale and
trembling, dreading she knew not what.

But he spoke very quietly:

“Amber, I am summoned to the bedside of a sick friend in Washington,
and shall start at once. If I do not return until to-morrow, you need
not be alarmed, as I may be obliged to remain even longer. Good-by,”
and he bustled away, leaving her to the company of her own thoughts.

On the whole, she was relieved. A sick friend did not matter. She was
rather glad to have him out of the way so that she might visit oftener
at Bonnycastle without fear of detection.

She was eager to force Cecil into a declaration, although she could
not yet see how she was going to bring the old judge to consent to the
marriage. She did not wish to run the risk of offending him and losing
her chance of inheriting his money, but she was determined to have
Cecil, and trusted in her usual good luck to bring matters about as she
desired.

Her thoughts followed Cecil longingly on his way back to Bonnycastle,
and she smiled as she thought how Mrs. Grant would rejoice at the news
that the debt on Bonnycastle was paid, and she would not be ousted from
the home she loved so dearly.

“Ah,” thought Amber, in triumph, “she will be very grateful to me, and
of course she will be forever sounding my praises in Cecil’s ears.
Surely then his heart will turn to me!”

She forgot the perversity of love that has puzzled all the wise ones of
the earth--forgot that love exists like jealousy--

  “We are not jealous for a cause
  But jealous for we are jealous!”

Cecil Grant might marry Amber through gratitude for her seeming
kindness, but the feeling would be far different from the passion he
felt for his only love, sweet Violet--the passion that lived in his
heart despite her desertion:

  “Every feeling hath been shaken,
    Pride, which not a world could bow,
  Bows to thee--by thee forsaken,
    Even my soul forsakes me now.

  “But ’tis done--all words are idle--
    Words from me are vainer still;
  But the thoughts we cannot bridle
    Force their way without the will.

  “Fare thee well! thus disunited,
    Torn from every nearer tie,
  Seared in heart, and lone, and blighted,
    More than this I scarce can die!”

Amber could not believe in the constancy of Cecil’s love for Violet now
that he believed her false and fickle. She was wildly determined to
push this love from his breast by the force of her own will.

She hurried over to Bonnycastle the next morning and succeeded in her
design of intercepting Cecil on his way to town as he walked along the
bank by the murmuring river that always seemed to whisper to him of
Violet, his fair, lost love.

It was a chilly morning in November. The frost-blighted willows drooped
forlornly over the stream, and the lonely path was strewn with dead
leaves that rustled to the tread.

When Cecil saw Amber coming toward him, he reproached himself for the
feeling of regret that arose in his heart at the meeting with the
brilliant beauty whose eyes beamed so joyously at his approach. He
knew, although he despised himself for the instinctive thought, that
she had come out purposely to intercept him on the way to the office.

“Good-morning,” she cried, pausing before him, with a bewitching smile.
“I am glad I met you. I have a letter from our naughty Violet.”

“Indeed!” and Cecil grew paler, and would have passed on, but she
detained him.

“Yes, it came this morning. They have arrived in Chicago, and she is
delighted with her magnificent new home. She says she will be a social
queen by reason of her husband’s wealth, and declares she is glad she
married him instead of you. I am ashamed of her, the fickle, heartless
girl! She even twitted me on my old love for you, and suggested that
perhaps now she had proved faithless, I might win you back to your old
allegiance.”

Stung by Violet’s heartlessness, he cried, warmly:

“Ah, would that I had never wandered from that first allegiance, and
wounded your true heart, dear Amber.”

“Cecil! oh, Cecil!” she cried, with a melting glance that encouraged
him to add:

“Is it too late to go back, Amber?”




CHAPTER XXXVIII.

BETROTHED.


It was the proudest, happiest moment of Amber Lauren’s life when Cecil
Grant, stung to madness by the supposed mockery of Violet, cried out in
the heat of resentful passion:

“Ah, would that I had never wandered from that first allegiance, and
wounded your true heart, dear Amber. Is it too late to go back?”

By a clever falsehood she had stung his pride and forced him into a
proposal sooner even than she had dared to hope.

He could think of nothing for a moment but his blind anger against
heartless Violet, and his sudden wish to show her that he was not
wearing the willow for her wicked desertion.

How sweet and noble Amber’s conduct seemed by contrast with Violet’s
perfidy. He felt conscious of a torturing regret that she had ever come
into his life, with her luring blue eyes and golden hair, to cheat him
with a promise of happiness never to be fulfilled.

He had no love to give Amber, but he knew that she would prize
gratitude and esteem; so he rushed into the trap she had set for him,
and looked kindly into the hazel eyes that were swimming with joy as he
exclaimed:

“Is it too late, Amber?”

“Oh, Cecil, dear Cecil!” she cried, joyfully again, and held out both
her hands to him. He took them in his, pressed them gently, and dropped
them again.

This was their betrothal. Amber longed for a single caress, for even
one cold kiss, but Cecil was too honest to proffer a wretched semblance
of love that never could be a reality.

He was paying his debt to Amber, and he was showing Violet that he
could console himself; that was all.

But, oh, the dazzling light of love on Amber’s face, the exultation in
her flashing eyes! She cried out, happily:

“I am glad that you can throw off Violet’s spell so easily, dear Cecil,
and I will try to make you happier than she ever could have done.”

“I thank you!” he answered, gently, although he knew in his heart that
her boast was impossible.

All his soul cried out for Violet, his beautiful lost love. She was
false, but he knew that he could never forget.

As he stood there gazing at her radiant face, he suddenly remembered
that the stern old judge who had refused to give him Violet would
reject his suit for Amber as well. He was ashamed of the relief that
came with the thought, but he cried out, quickly:

“Ah, Amber, what is the use of our plighting any vows? Your proud
grandfather would never consent to our marriage.”

“He shall consent!” Amber replied, with a proud toss of her graceful
head, and she added, quickly: “I always told Violet that she could have
her way with grandpapa by being more resolute, but she was timid and
half-hearted, and her love for you was not strong enough to make her
courageous in fighting her battles. It is different with me, Cecil, for
I shall triumph, you may be sure.”

He smiled at her without replying, and she added:

“But, of course, we will keep it a secret just at present, and tell
only your dear mamma. I think she is fond of me, Cecil, and I hope she
will be pleased.”

“I am sure she will be pleased,” he replied, kindly, then added: “I
wish I could go back with you, Amber, to tell her the news, but I am
compelled to meet a client at the office this morning.”

“I will excuse you, since your business is imperative,” she replied,
gayly, and kissing the tips of her fingers to him, passed on toward
Bonnycastle.

Cecil merely lifted his hat, in token of farewell, and hastened toward
his office, his mind a chaos of gloomy thoughts.

Violet’s desertion and her mocking letter to Amber rankled in his heart
with a pain that the devotion of his new betrothed could not assuage.

It seemed like a cruel mockery of fate that Amber, and not Violet, was
to be his wife.

How often he had dreamed in his doting fondness of the glad future day
when he should lead his beautiful, golden-haired love to his mother,
telling her proudly that Violet was to be his wife and her daughter,
and make joy and sunshine in their home.

Alas! the dream was over. Violet was false and vain; she loved gold
and social rank more than a true and loving heart. She had thrown him
aside, and Amber was to reign in her stead--Amber, who was true and
noble, but whom he could never love as he did her heartless cousin.

  “This withered spray of mignonette
  You gave me, from my heart I take,
  This sick sad heart you taught to ache,
  And fling it in the restless sea.
  I would my thoughts of you could be
  So flung away from me; and yet
  I cannot break the cruel net!”

Poor Cecil! the future looked very dark and gloomy to his despondent
heart as he wended his way officeward, and Violet filled his thoughts,
to the exclusion of triumphant Amber, who had hastened to Bonnycastle
and imparted her news to Mrs. Grant.

The lady was surprised, though she did not permit Amber to suspect it.
Intuitively she had read the girl’s heart, and knew that love for Cecil
had prompted all her kindness, but she had not expected that her son
would so soon forget his lost Violet.

The truth flashed quickly over her mind.

She understood that Cecil had sacrificed himself to pay the debt he
owed Amber for saving Bonnycastle to his mother.

“Dear, noble boy!” she thought, tenderly, and kissed Amber very fondly,
while she registered a silent prayer that Cecil would soon learn to
love the beautiful girl to whom he had plighted his hand since she had
proved more worthy of his heart than lovely Violet, who had once been
her favorite.




CHAPTER XXXIX.

“I HAD HOPED--BUT ALL IS OVER NOW!”


A week passed, very quietly and wearily to our sweet Violet in her
seclusion at the home of Mrs. Lavarre.

To her restless heart, tortured by suspense and anxiety, the time
seemed endless, but the advice of her two new friends was still to wait
a while and take no steps to break up the mystery that surrounded her
flight.

“If I might only write to Cecil,” she sighed, and the thought of his
trouble weighed like lead upon her spirits.

She knew not what story her enemies had invented to impose upon his
credulity. Perhaps Amber had declared that she was false and heartless,
and had married Harold Castello knowingly, and of her own free choice.

“She will win his heart from me, and then I shall die of despair,” she
moaned; but when she gazed on her opal ring she saw the beautiful jewel
glowing with dazzling hues of rainbow light, and knew that Cecil’s
heart was still her own, no matter what cruel story of treachery and
desertion they had poured into his ears.

“He loves me still, my darling!” she murmured, and took comfort in the
thought, forgetting that she was bound by irrevocable ties to another,
and that Cecil’s love could only be sorrow.

But when she pleaded so piteously that she ought to write to Cecil,
Lena Lavarre gently reminded her of the hideous truth that she was
Harold Castello’s wife.

“To write to your lost lover would only augment his misery,” she
said. “Besides, your enemies will be watching for that very clew, and
they would pounce upon you like merciless hawks. Be patient, dear, and
wait a little while before you make a single move in this strange game
you are playing with destiny. It seems to me that Heaven itself will
interfere to save you from Harold Castello.”

“Heaven did not interfere to save you, Lena,” Violet answered, bitterly.

A heart-rending sigh heaved Lena’s breast, and she answered, sadly:

“I did not deserve Heaven’s mercy, Violet, for I was a willful,
disobedient daughter, and ignored the fifth commandment in my
determination to please myself. So I was punished for my sin. But with
you, dear, it is different. You are good and gentle, but you fell
a victim to the wicked plots of your enemies without fault of your
own, so I believe that God is watching to save you and restore you to
happiness again.”

“How can I ever be happy again, bound to that guilty wretch, Harold
Castello?” cried hapless Violet, with the big tears raining from her
blue eyes down upon her pale, lovely cheeks.

“Trust in God and wait,” answered poor Lena, reverently, and after a
moment’s thought, she added:

“Who knows even yet but that I may be Castello’s lawful wife? In that
case your own marriage would be a sham, and you would be free from
your hateful bonds. I’ll tell you, Violet, that I have been trying to
see his valet--the one that he said acted the parson in our marriage
ceremony. I shall ask him if it is true, and thus settle the doubt
forever.”

All Violet’s hopes hinged on this doubt. She prayed night and day
that the truth might be revealed, and Lena Lavarre proved to be Harold
Castello’s legal wife.

“Then I should be free again--oh, blissful thought!--and my undying
love for Cecil would no longer be a sin! I should send for him to
come to me here, and throwing myself into his dear arms, tell him how
cruelly we both had been tricked and deceived. We would be married
soon, and Amber’s wicked arts could never part us again!” she thought,
hopefully.

But this faint, lingering doubt, that in its uncertainty saved her from
complete despair, was soon to be dissipated by the truth.

Lena Lavarre had washed from her face and hands the brown dye she had
assumed when she answered Harold Castello’s advertisement for a French
maid for his bride, and with her fair complexion, rich golden hair,
and large brown eyes, appeared so beautiful that Violet did not wonder
at Harold Castello’s infatuation with the dazzling coquette. Even now,
with the pensive shade of a tragedy on her exquisite face, she was very
charming.

But Lena no longer exulted in the beauty that had brought her so much
sorrow. When she went abroad on simple domestic errands for her mother,
she always wore a thick vail that obscured her face, and she appeared
unconscious of the admiring glances that rested on her queenly form and
graceful carriage. The zest for flirtation was over now, for her proud
heart was broken, and Lena would be glad when death released her from
her undying remorse for her ruined life and her father’s untimely death.

One day her mother sent her into the heart of the city on an errand,
and when she returned they saw by the expression of her face that
something startling had happened.

“What is it, my poor Lena? What has grieved you so much, and washed out
all the light of your eyes in tears?” cried the anxious mother.

Lena had, indeed, been weeping bitterly all the way home. Her thick
vail was wet with the tears she had shed.

With a stifled sob, she threw off her hat and wrap, and sank wearily
into a chair, while Violet and her mother hung about her in surprise
and sympathy.

“Oh, Lena, what is the matter? What new sorrow has come to your poor
heart?” cried Violet.

Lena lifted her beautiful streaming eyes to her sweet friend, crying,
bitterly:

“My poor darling, it is for you that I weep so bitterly! I had
hoped--hoped--but all is over now. I have seen Jacques, the valet. I
know all the bitter truth!” and clasping Violet’s hand, she pressed it
to her feverish lips in passionate sympathy.

“You have seen Jacques Brown, Harold Castello’s servant? When? Where?”
exclaimed Mrs. Lavarre, in keen agitation.




CHAPTER XL.

“VIOLET, PLEASE COME HOME!”


Violet had fallen back in agonized silence, guessing the fatal truth
from Lena’s incoherent speech. Her eyes grew dim, her face pale, and
a hand of steel seemed to clutch her throat, pressing out all the joy
and hope and life. She waited in dumb despair for Lena’s reply to her
mother’s words.

“Look to Violet, mamma; she is almost fainting! Yes, that is
right--make her lie down on the sofa and listen, for I have that to
tell that will almost break her heart!” sobbed Lena.

When Violet was listening quietly on the sofa, her burning gaze
devouring Lena’s tear-wet face, the speaker continued, hoarsely:

“Where did I see him, mamma? What does that matter? But I will tell
you. As I was crossing Ninth street, I met a little funeral cortege on
its way to the grave, with some poor soul doubtless happily released
from the miseries of its earth-life. ‘Who was it?’ you ask! How do I
know? I did not ask, I did not care; I only wished that your unhappy
daughter lay in that black hearse with its funeral plumes nodding over
her deep repose! But, Jacques? Yes, I saw him in one of the carriages,
his evil face leering out at me! I stood dumb with surprise one moment,
then I made a desperate gesture that I wished to speak to him. The
carriage stopped for him to speak to me. He sprang out and came to my
side.

“‘Miss Lavarre, is it you, or your ghost? I thought you died months
ago, of brain fever, in Chicago. Really, this is a strange renconter at
this time,’ he smirked.

“I could have killed the villain, I hated him so bitterly; but I
schooled myself to calmness, and said, hastily:

“‘No, I did not die, although I wish that I had! But, Jacques Brown,
as you value the salvation of your soul hereafter, tell me the truth!
Was I legally Harold Castello’s wife, or--did you play the parson as
he swore to me in Chicago, and help to deceive me into a mock marriage
that wrecked my life.’

“The valet gazed into my tortured face almost pityingly for a moment,
then answered, frankly:

“‘It’s no use for me to deny it to you, Miss Lavarre. Mr. Castello made
me play the priest in your case, as he did in two more besides your
own, only a few months before. He was a hardened _roue_, my master, and
that’s the truth. But he paid me well for helping him in his wicked
pleasures. Perhaps you know that he was married, though, fast and
tight, only a week ago, to a beautiful young girl, Miss Violet Mead,
who ran away from him the same night?’”

“‘You swear that Violet Mead alone is the legal wife of Harold
Castello?’ I asked him, so solemnly that he grew pale and raised his
hand to heaven, exclaiming:

“‘I swear before God that Miss Mead was his legal wife. All the others
were deceived, like you, Miss Lavarre. But, excuse me; I am delaying
the procession,’ and with a grim smile, he bowed to me, sprang back
into the carriage, and it fell into line behind the funeral cortege
that wound slowly along its solemn way, while I returned home with my
cruel news for Violet.”

She sobbed hysterically again, but Violet lay still and white, the
heavy lids shut tight over the dark-blue eyes--not unconscious, but
still as death in her terrible despair.

The last hope was cut from beneath her feet. She belonged by law to
the man she loathed and feared. At any moment he might ferret out her
hiding-place and claim her as his own. His power was paramount, and no
one could disclaim his right to take her away with him. What though
she knew that he was one of the vilest criminals--what though she had
seen him commit a foul murder--the law would not permit her to testify
against her husband! She was his wife, she was powerless, almost
friendless, a helpless fugitive hiding from her master!

The three unhappy women sank into hopeless silence, and Mrs. Lavarre
sat down and mechanically unfolded the silk waist Lena had just brought
in from the dressmaker’s. The package was wrapped in a newspaper of the
day previous, and her sad eyes wandered carelessly over the advertising
pages that lay open to her gaze.

Suddenly she gave an almost frightened start, and her passively sad
countenance grew animated.

“Miss Mead!” she cried out, eagerly, and Violet opened her heavy eyes
with a vacant gaze.

The newspaper was rustling nervously in the widow’s shaking hands, and
she said, quickly:

“This must be intended for you, my dear girl.”

“What is it?” Violet asked, languidly, and Lena dashed the tears from
her eyes, and gazed curiously at her mother.

“It is this paper that you brought around my silk waist, Lena,”
explained Mrs. Lavarre. “I was just sitting here musing, with my eyes
downcast, when they alighted on the personal column, and I read these
words:

    “VIOLET:--Will you please communicate at once with your
    anxious grandfather?”

“It is grandpapa!” cried Violet, sitting upright in eager excitement,
while Lena cried, indignantly:

“A trap to betray you into your husband’s power.”

Then she started wildly at the cry of remonstrance that came from
Violet’s trembling lips.

“Ah, Lena, for sweet pity’s sake, do not speak of that fiend as my
husband again. Call his name, if you will, but never say of him that he
is my husband, or that I am his wife. It drives me mad with despair.”

“My poor darling, I will try to remember,” soothed Lena, gently, and
then they fell to discussing Judge Camden’s personal.

They agreed that it was best that Violet should ignore the personal,
for her wicked old grandfather could have only one object in desiring
to learn her whereabouts, and that object to betray her into the power
of Harold Castello.

But the newspapers of the next day and the succeeding day were eagerly
searched, and it was found that they contained the same personal, day
after day. Then it varied into other words:

    “VIOLET:--Please come home. I have good news for you.”

And again:

    “DEAR VIOLET:--For Heaven’s sake, write to us or come
    home. We are very unhappy over your fate!”

Each of the personals was signed “Grandfather,” and each one provoked
only a contemptuous curl of the lip from sweet Violet.

Her bitter experience of his cruelty and unkindness had left Violet no
faith in her grandfather’s affection. She believed that he was only
acting on Harold Castello’s behalf.

Accordingly she ignored the personals, and clung more closely to her
refuge under the hospitable roof of the gentle Widow Lavarre and her
hapless daughter Lena.

At the end of a week the personals assumed another form:

    “Will Violet please let me know where she is, and I
    will keep her secret if she wishes me to do so. I am
    very unhappy over her flight.

  UNCLE GEORGE MEAD.”

Violet’s heart was so touched by this appeal that she would have
replied to it, but her friends dissuaded her and whispered caution.

“Harold Castello has perhaps enlisted the Meads on his side, and if
you write to them, it may be they will deliver you into his hands.
Remember how rich he is, and what a power his great wealth gives him
in influencing other people. Doubtless your relatives think that yours
would be an enviable fate as his wife,” declared Lena; and there was so
much truth in her words that Violet decided to ignore this personal as
she had done the others. It seemed to her that the whole world was in
league against her, that she had no friends outside of the two lonely
women who gave her so warm a welcome beneath their roof.




CHAPTER XLI.

JUDGE CAMDEN’S RETURN.


“It is quite strange how long Judge Camden stays away!” Mrs. Shirley
remarked to Amber, when the old man had been absent two days.

“I am sure it is quite as pleasant without him!” that young lady
returned, flippantly.

Truth to tell, she found it pleasanter, for half of her time was now
spent at Bonnycastle, and no one questioned her movements. She knew
that a grand explanation must come some day, but decided to defer it as
long as possible.

So she rejoiced in her grandfather’s absence, and the letter that came
from him that day contained very gratifying intelligence, as it stated
that he would not probably return for a week, owing to the dangerous
condition of his sick friend. He also requested that all letters that
arrived for him might be promptly forwarded to the general post-office
in Washington.

Mrs. Shirley was quite curious over the mysterious sick friend on whom
the judge was attending with such assiduous care.

But Amber disclaimed all knowledge of the name and estate of the
interesting invalid, and, absorbed in her own affairs, she had no
interest in the matter, little dreaming how vitally it affected her own
future.

But Mrs. Shirley fretted more than ever.

“What if it should be our Violet who is sick?” she said, uneasily.

“Nonsense! Violet has arrived in Chicago long ere this,” Amber said,
carelessly; but she did not think it necessary to tell the old lady the
falsehood that she told Cecil about receiving a letter from Violet. She
cared nothing for the meek and gentle old widow who in that stately
house scarcely dared claim her soul as her own.

So she turned away rejoicing in her grandfather’s absence, and went
away gayly to the piano, where she spent an hour playing brilliant
operatic gems, trying to while away the time until she could start on
her afternoon visit to Bonnycastle.

“How I wish that Cecil could come to visit me here!” she sighed, and
then fell to wondering how she could re-reconcile her grandfather to
her marriage with Cecil.

She did not wish to lose her chance of inheriting jointly with Violet
the large fortune of Judge Camden, but she did not see how she could
retain the old man’s favor and still achieve her heart’s desire.

She brooded often over the subject, thinking how proud she would be to
carry a fortune to her husband, so that Bonnycastle could be restored
to its pristine splendor, and herself become the great lady of the
county, as Mrs. Grant had been in the palmy days, before the war had
desolated old Virginia and swept away her fortune and her husband’s
health.

A dark thought came to her one wakeful night, and haunted her with
horrible persistence.

What if the old man should die soon--die before he found out that she
was betrothed to Cecil?

Amber knew that the judge’s will had been made long ago, and that,
after a legacy to Mrs. Shirley, all his wealth was divided between her
and Violet. She bitterly begrudged her cousin her share; but she knew
that no effort of hers could divert it from her.

The thought of his death grew into a secret, guilty wish.

What a fortunate thing it would be for her, how it would smooth out all
the difficulties in her way.

And he was old, too--past seventy. He had lived out the measure of his
days, grown feeble, grumpy, disagreeable, his headstrong temper making
him the terror of the whole household at Golden Willows. Decidedly
his death would be a relief to all. Amber began to wish for it with a
desperate longing. Her hopes made it seem possible, probable.

In the meantime she kept secret her betrothal to Cecil, and her stolen
visits at his home, waiting for Death to seize the old man who stood
between her and the wealth she was eager to inherit.

It almost seemed as if Fate was going to grant her wish, for at the end
of a week the old man returned to Golden Willows, so ill, so harassed,
so changed from his usual pompous self as to fill every one with
surprise.

“No, I have not been ill, but I have had a great shock,” was all he
would answer to their anxious inquiries; and he took to his bed at
once, saying that he must stay there till he grew better.

His first inquiry, on reaching the house, was for his letters, and he
turned them over with a groan of disappointment.

“Has no one heard anything of Violet?” he asked, looking anxiously from
Mrs. Shirley to Amber.

“Not one word,” answered Amber, quickly.

“Not one word!” echoed Mrs. Shirley, dejectedly.

“It is very strange!” he muttered, and his old gray head drooped
dejectedly on his breast.

Some great trouble had surely come to him, they thought.

He declared that he was not ill; he would not have a physician
summoned. He repeated over and over that he had sustained a great
shock, and must have time to recover.

“Did your sick friend die?” asked Amber, carelessly, one day.

“Yes, he died,” replied the judge, and quickly turned the subject to
something else.

This aroused Amber’s curiosity, for it seemed as if he must have loved
the deceased very much to suffer so keenly over his death.

But no clever hints could elicit anything further about the mysterious
dead man.

Judge Camden’s sole anxiety now was over his letters.

He dispatched a servant to the post-office for every mail that arrived,
and he invariably groaned with disappointment when he turned over his
batch of letters.

Amber watched him with blended curiosity and dread. She could not
understand this strange anxiety over the girl he had treated so harshly
and cruelly.

She said, on the third day, almost petulantly:

“Grandpapa, why are you so anxious for a letter from Violet? You
cannot surely expect her to write to you after the cruel treatment she
received from you.”

They were alone in the old man’s bedroom, where he lay very pale and
feeble among the pillows, while Amber sat near in an easy-chair, having
volunteered to read the morning papers aloud for him.

How bright and beautiful she looked in her warm, crimson morning dress
that set off so exquisitely her olive skin, hazel eyes, and wealth of
satiny brown braids. You would not have dreamed that such a beautiful
body could have harbored such a wicked soul; yet at that moment she was
thinking that her grandfather certainly looked very ill this morning,
and that the secret anxiety that seemed to be consuming him would soon
wear out his feeble life. Oh, how she exulted in the thought that
at his death all her deep-laid schemes would be crowned with bright
success. Violet was wedded to another, and out of the way, and she
was betrothed to Cecil. Soon the old man would be dead, and she would
inherit a fortune and could marry her lover whenever she chose.

All these bright thoughts were passing through her mind as she uttered
the petulant complaint, and she hoped that the words would silence his
strange anxiety over Violet; for why should he worry over the girl’s
silence, when he had so doggedly doomed her to the fate of an unloving
bride?

She was startled when a bursting sigh heaved the old man’s breast, and
he cried out, with strange agitation:

“Ah, Amber, I treated Violet very cruelly in letting her be deceived
into that dreadful marriage!”

Amber’s eyes dilated in angry surprise. She thought he had surely
fallen into his dotage.

“That dreadful marriage!” she cried, indignantly. “Why, how you must
have changed your mind! You thought all along that it was a very fine
thing for Violet to marry a millionaire!”

“I was a doting old fool!” suddenly thundered the judge, in violent
self-denunciation, and his wan, wrinkled old features writhed with keen
remorse.

“Grandpapa!”

“I was an old fool!” repeated the judge, in a lower key, and in
dreadful self-abasement; and he continued, sadly: “Amber, I believe I
have been half-mad the last few months, and it seems to me as if you
have boldly aided and abetted me in my meanness. In fact, you went
further in devising deviltry! Girl, girl, why did you do it? Why did
you put that wicked thing in my head? Why didn’t you take your cousin’s
part?--sweet Violet, who was so pretty and gentle and tender that we
ought to have worshiped her instead of driving her to her death!”

“Dead! Dead! Is Violet dead?” gasped Amber, her lips paling in genuine
horror, though there was a throb of wicked joy at her heart.

With a deep groan, Judge Camden answered:

“I did not mean to distress you with the bad news yet, Amber, but my
remorse is greater than I can bear alone. Yes, yes. I fear that pretty
Violet is dead! We have hounded her to some dreadful fate--suicide,
very likely!”

She gazed at him in consternation and wonder.

“Grandpapa, you must be raving! You look every day for a letter from
Violet, and then forebode that she is dead. What can you mean? Is not
Violet safe with her husband, the millionaire?”

“No, no, Amber; she ran away from Harold Castello the same night she
was married, and her subsequent fate is wrapped in blackest mystery!”




CHAPTER XLII.

AMBER HEARS STARTLING NEWS.


A spasm of bitter rage tore Amber’s heart at the words of her
remorseful grandfather.

Violet had escaped from the loathed husband she had been tricked into
marrying.

At any moment she might return to Golden Willows, to denounce the
traitors who had wronged her, and to convince Cecil of her love and
fidelity!

Amber saw in fancy the whole fabric of her dearly bought happiness
tumbling in ruins at her feet.

How Cecil would despise her when he learned all her wickedness, when he
found that, under the guise of friendship, she had plotted to separate
him from Violet and tried to steal into his darling’s place.

As the humiliating thought came over her, the warm hue of her cheeks
faded to awful pallor, her eyes grew dim and glazed, and with a panting
sigh, she let her head fall against the back of her chair.

Judge Camden thought she was fainting, and cried out, in alarm:

“Amber! Amber!”

The hazel eyes unclosed, and Amber feebly raised her head.

“Ah, my girl, it is dreadful, is it not?” cried the old man. “She
ran away from Castello within an hour almost after they reached the
house, and all search has proved utterly vain. For almost a week I have
been searching for her, and I have put personals into the prominent
newspapers, begging her to write to me or come home, but you see how
fruitless all my efforts have proved. I fear that she is dead--that in
her horror and despair at finding herself Castello’s bride, she has
committed suicide!”

“I hope so,” thought Amber, vindictively; but, struggling for calmness,
she said:

“Perhaps she fled to her father’s people, the Meads!”

“No; for I have been to them in Philadelphia. They knew nothing about
her, and I asked her uncle to insert personals in the newspapers. He
did so, but no answer came, and he shares my belief that poor Violet
has surely been overtaken by some terrible fate.”

The belief certainly seemed plausible, but Amber dared not credit it.
She trembled with horror at the threatening overthrow of all her hopes.

To lose her love Cecil now, when he was almost her very own--the
thought was madness!

In a husky voice she cried:

“I do not believe that Violet is dead. She is probably in hiding,
fearful to return lest she should be delivered up to Harold Castello.
But how strange that he permitted her to escape! Have you seen him? Did
he tell you how it happened?”

“I have seen him, and he told me his theory. The French maid he
employed to guard Violet disappeared at the same time, and he believed
that she proved false to her trust and helped her mistress to escape.”

In a feeble voice, broken by remorseful sighs, he told Amber of the
fire in Violet’s room that night, and that Castello had been forced to
leave the house to have his burns dressed by a physician. During his
absence she had escaped.

“So it was Harold Castello who sent for you a week ago?” Amber cried,
eagerly.

“Yes.”

“But, grandpapa, you said it was a sick friend.”

“Harold Castello was sick from his burns.”

Amber’s eyes began to dilate with an awful suspicion. She panted,
wildly:

“But you told me, did you not, that your sick friend was dead?”

“Yes, I told you so!”

“Was it true?”

“Yes, yes,” Judge Camden answered, impatiently.

“Then--then--Harold Castello--Violet’s husband! Do you mean to tell me,
grandpapa, that he is dead?” burst out Amber, in wildest dismay.

“Harold Castello is dead and buried,” was the startling reply.




CHAPTER XLIII.

SHE FANCIED THAT ONLY THE CONDEMNED IN TORMENT COULD FEEL SUCH PANGS.


Again Amber was speechless from surprise.

She could scarcely credit her own hearing, and stared dumbly at her
grandfather for confirmation of his startling statement.

He watched her in silence a few moments, then said, peevishly:

“I did not intend to tell you all this until I got better, for I’m
tired and sick from the awful strain on my nerves, and it fatigues me
to talk much; but you have somehow wormed it out of me; so I will try
and finish the story.”

“Please do, for I am very curious,” answered Amber, disregarding his
confession of weakness, and he continued:

“Harold Castello, in the excitement of extinguishing the fire in the
room, burned his hands and scorched his hair, but did not suppose he
had seriously injured himself until he reached the physician’s office,
where he became alarmingly ill. To be brief, he had, in his combat with
the fiery element, swallowed fire, as the common saying is. His life
was doomed.”

“Heavens!” muttered Amber, with glaring eyes of horror.

“Yes, it was terrible,” exclaimed Judge Camden. “He was carried home
by the physician and his valet, and put to bed, never to rise again.
Horrible suffering supervened, rendered more terrible by his agony of
mind when he learned of Violet’s flight. But no search was made at
first, for he believed that she had returned to Golden Willows. At
length, realizing that he could not live, he sent for me, begging that
I would bring Violet to his bedside, as he had one request to make of
her before he died.”

The judge paused in his narration with a gasp of weakness, and motioned
for a glass of the wine that stood on the little stand by the bed.

Amber obeyed his gesture, and after swallowing the wine he rested a few
moments, and resumed:

“You know how hastily I left, Amber, without confiding in any one. I
hurried to Harold Castello’s dying bed, and soon learned what I have
told you of Violet’s flight. He was bitterly distressed because we
could not find Violet, and gave me a parting message for her. I also
witnessed his will, in which he left her his entire two millions, as an
atonement for the persecutions she had suffered at his hands.”

“Two millions! To atone for his honorable love!” sneered Amber, almost
wild with rage and envy of her hated cousin.

“Yes, and it was well earned by her sufferings when she found herself
his wife,” protested the judge, stoutly, and he added: “Ah, you did
not know that you were pushing Violet into a union with a fiend, or
you never would have planned that awful marriage. But Violet knew him
better--she had heard of him before; and if she killed herself rather
than be his wife, I dare not sit in judgment on the hapless girl. He
was a villain, and his punishment seemed a just one. He confessed to
me that he had led a wicked life, and was not a fitting mate for my
pure Violet. Why, look you, Amber, when the funeral cortege was moving
to the cemetery, it was stopped by a young girl as lovely as a queen,
and with the most tragically sad face I ever looked upon. The valet
got out and spoke to her, and he told me afterward, that she was one
among several beautiful girls that his dead master had lured to ruin
and disgrace. Is it any wonder that poor Violet shrank in fear from the
villain that we chose for her husband?”

Amber sat trembling, overwhelmed, crying out in her heart that fate had
played her a cruel, a terrible trick.

Violet was free, a rich young widow, and at any moment she might come
to Bonnycastle and tell Cecil how cruelly they both had been deceived.
Their reconciliation and marriage would soon follow. They would be
fortunate and happy; while for her--wicked, unscrupulous Amber--nothing
would remain but disgrace and sorrow and endless despair.

Pale as she would ever be in her coffin, but with fiery, burning eyes,
she sat and listened to the old judge’s story, hating him madly in her
heart because at the last he had repented of his wickedness, because
his soul stood aghast at the horrors to which he had doomed hapless
Violet.

Very solemnly the old man continued:

“I have come to my senses, Amber, and I realize the enormity of my
sin against my grandchild, although perhaps too late, for my heart
forebodes that gentle Violet is dead. Alas! if Heaven had only spared
her, all would come right now. She would be free, and I would no longer
oppose her love for Cecil Grant!”

Amber’s voice rang sharply, despairingly, through the room:

“You would let them marry--Cecil and Violet?”

He answered, peevishly, reproachfully:

“Yes, Amber; it is the only atonement I could make them for all my
cruelty. And he is a noble man, this Cecil Grant. I have wronged him
by my enmity when I ought to have held out a helping hand to the manly
young fellow. But I have thought of a plan,” eagerly. “I shall send for
him and tell him all, and he shall search for Violet. Love is so keen
and strong, you know, and----”

“My God!” shuddered Amber, the cry wrung from her by such agony as she
fancied only the condemned in torment could know.

Then she forced her writhing lips to utter calmer words:

“Grandpapa, I am terribly unnerved by this story you have told me, but
I am hopeful that Violet is not dead. And, yes, I think you are right
to intrust the search for her to Cecil Grant. Love is keen and strong,
as you say. You ought not to be kept in suspense over this matter; and
if you will permit me, I will go myself for Cecil Grant.”

“Yes, bring him to me at once!” he exclaimed, feverishly.




CHAPTER XLIV.

A TERRIBLE DEED!


Amber flew to her room to get ready for her trip to Bonnycastle. Her
brain was on fire, she was on the verge of insanity.

She put her hand to her brow and stood wondering what she should do
next.

“My fate hangs trembling in the balance of the next hour,” she
muttered, hoarsely. “Shall I remain quiescent, and let them all triumph
over me? or shall I strike one fatal blow and achieve my own happiness?
Bah! who could hesitate in such an hour? Self-preservation is the first
law of nature.”

Thought came in rushing waves, and all in an instant her plans were
formed.

She dressed herself very richly and carefully for a drive, and packed a
small hand-satchel with all of her jewelry, and a change of clothing.
Then she slipped into her glove a tiny package containing a white
powder, muttering:

“How fortunate for me that I contemplated suicide when I first lost the
hope of Cecil Grant’s love, and bought this arsenic in Washington. It
will serve a better purpose now.”

She laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh, blood-curdling in its malice,
and leaving the satchel just within the door, ran down stairs.

She gave an order for her phaeton to be brought immediately, and
returned to her grandfather’s room.

The old man lay upon the bed in a slight doze, looking aged and pitiful
in his gray hairs and wrinkles, but no pity stirred the heart of the
girl who hated him now with a deadly hate.

Leaning over the table, with her back to the bed, she emptied into
his wine-glass the white powder hidden in her dainty glove, her eyes
flashing with a resolute glare.

Then she turned back to the bed and touched her victim gently. He
started up in a dazed fashion, leaning on his elbow.

“Amber, is that you? How you startled me! I must have been asleep.”

“I am sorry that I startled you; but I came to tell you that I am ready
to go for Cecil,” sweetly.

“Ah, yes; bring him quickly, Amber. Tell him it is important,” he
sighed, wearily.

“Grandpapa, how faint your voice sounds, and how terribly ill you look!
Let me give you some wine,” and the beautiful fiend poured the ruby
liquid upon the white powder in the glass, furtively shook it up, and
presented it with a faltering hand, although she was determined to
playfully force it down his throat if he refused it.

But the unsuspecting judge took the glass in his hand, and drained a
third of its contents before he paused, and said:

“Ugh! it is very strong! It burns my throat!”

“But it will make you strong. Drink it all, grandpapa,” pleaded Amber,
solicitously.

“I will--presently,” and he leaned back on the pillow, still holding
the wine in his hand.

She waited, lingered, but he dallied with the glass, almost driving her
wild with impatience.

Eager to be gone, and believing that he had already taken a fatal dose,
she said, presently:

“May I set down the glass for you and go, grandpapa?”

“Yes, go; but never mind the wine. I will sip it at my leisure,” he
answered; and in her impatience she took him at his word, and flitted
out with a ghastly smile, thinking:

“He will finish it, every drop, before he puts it down, and probably
die before any one else comes into the room. There will be no suspicion
of the cause of death, and they will call it heart failure.”

In the hall she encountered a maid-servant, and said carelessly:

“Hattie, go up stairs and bring down the little satchel inside my door.
I am taking my dahlia silk to the village to be altered.”

Five minutes later she was driving along the road to the post-office, a
dazzling vision that every one turned out to see in her elegant attire
and natty equipage.

Half a score of obsequious young men darted out of the post-office to
hand her from her carriage, and her dazzling smile thrilled them all
day like wine.

She went past them into the office, but the Camden box was empty, the
mail having already been taken.

“I see there is nothing for us, but I will take the Grant mail, if you
please. I shall be driving past Mr. Grant’s office, and can save him
the trouble of walking here,” she said to the postmaster, with her
brilliant smile that almost turned his head.

“There is only one letter. It is for Mr. Grant,” he replied, taking it
from Cecil’s box and handing it to the beauty with his most obsequious
bow.

“I thank you,” she answered, as she grasped the treasure, and flitted
out with a swish of silk and a waft of perfume that lingered all day in
the minds of the admiring hangers-on at the village post-office.




CHAPTER XLV.

A FATEFUL LETTER.


While she was driving away, she looked eagerly, suspiciously, at the
solitary letter for Cecil.

A cry of jealous anger parted her crimson lips.

“From Violet!”

It was indeed from Violet, whose anxiety had overridden her discretion
and made her write at last to her lost lover to tell him the bitter
truth about their parting.

“For it breaks my heart to have Cecil believe that I was false to him!”
she sighed, to herself, and in a sudden fit of willfulness posted the
letter to him without the knowledge of her friends.

“He at least will not betray me to my foes!” she thought.

Alas! she dreamed not that her cruel, jealous cousin would be on the
watch for the letter, and that it was fated to fall into her hands.

“I feared, I dreaded this,” Amber muttered, bitterly; then she thrust
the letter inside her bosom, to read it at another time.

“Cecil shall never see it, never! That doll-faced girl shall never
rob me of my darling!” she vowed, vindictively, as she turned toward
Bonnycastle, shivering through her rich sealskin wraps, for the day
was bitterly cold and wintry, the chill of the hastening December days
already in the air.

As she drove along, the beautiful face became white and set, and an
intense light burned in the golden-hazel eyes. There was a struggle
before her that was bitterly humiliating to contemplate, yet she did
not flinch from it. She was determined that ere the sun set she would
be Cecil’s wedded wife.

“Then I can laugh at fate!” she cried, grimly, as she sprang from
her phaeton, threw the reins to a servant, and entered the doors of
Bonnycastle.

Mrs. Grant, who was a semi-invalid, was always hovering over a bright
open wood-fire, and rose hospitably to greet her guest.

“How cold and pale you look, my dear. Here, sit close to the fire,” she
cried, kissing Amber, and drawing forward a large rocking-chair for her
occupancy.

Amber dropped into the chair, put her face in her hands, and burst into
a passion of genuine, fitful sobbing. It came quite naturally, for she
was wrought up to the verge of hysteria.

“Oh, Amber, what has happened? My dear, dear girl, what troubles you?”
implored Mrs. Grant, in surprise and distress, but for some time she
received no satisfaction.

Amber apparently was too much agitated to speak, and at last sobbed out
in the most incoherent fashion:

“Wait! Wait--till Cecil--comes! and I will--tell--you--my--miserable
story!”

Then she subsided into her drenched handkerchief again until presently
her betrothed came quickly into the room.

“Oh, Cecil, I’ve been waiting so long for you to come!” she sobbed, and
he answered:

“But I’m not much behind time, Amber. I only ran down to the
post-office before coming home to luncheon. And, by the way, Amber, I
was told you had called for my mail and taken it away.”

He looked at her expectantly, and she faltered:

“I was on my way to Bonnycastle, and thought I would save you
the trouble of calling for your mail. But, Cecil, there was only
one letter, and as I held it in my hand--can you ever pardon my
carelessness?--the breeze caught it from me, and whirled it into the
river.”

She wished with a sudden uneasiness that she had indeed tossed Violet’s
letter into the river, but she had kept it, with woman’s proverbial
curiosity, to read at some future convenient time.

Cecil’s dark, handsome face was grave with disappointment, but he
stifled his vexation, and said, courteously:

“It cannot be helped now, but I dare say it was of no
importance--although I fancy I shall be curious all my days over the
contents of that lost letter.”

“But you never shall know the truth about it,” thought Amber,
vindictively, and she resolved to destroy the letter at the first
opportunity.

Then, suddenly, she burst into tears again, and Mrs. Grant said,
anxiously, to her son:

“Amber is in some deep trouble, and promised to explain all as soon as
you arrived.”

He turned quickly to the weeping girl, saying, tenderly:

“What is it that has grieved you so bitterly, my dear girl?”

Unheeding Mrs. Grant’s presence, and with a torrent of tears, Amber
threw herself into Cecil’s arms, clinging wildly to him, and sobbing,
miserably:

“Grandpapa has turned me out of doors, driven me from home, and I have
come to throw myself upon your protection.”

“Turned you out of doors! Good heavens! why has Judge Camden done this
cruel thing?” demanded Cecil, wonderingly, and she moaned, despairingly:

“He found out that--that--it was I who loaned you the money to save
Bonnycastle, and he--he--struck me, and drove me from home!”




CHAPTER XLVI.

TOO MUCH HASTE DEFEATS ITS OBJECT.


Dumb with amazement and indignation, Cecil stood passive in the clasp
of her clinging arms, while she raved on:

“Oh, Cecil, he is so terrible in his wrath! He threatened such terrible
things! He swore that I should never be your wife! Oh, I am so
frightened, so wretched! Would that I were dead!”

“Poor Amber! All this comes of loving me! Oh, I was wrong to accept
your generosity, I was wrong to make you my betrothed; I should have
known that sorrow would come of it!” exclaimed Cecil, in deep agitation
and sympathy, although no throb of love stirred his heart for the
beautiful girl clinging to him in such passionate love.

“No, no,” cried Amber, wildly, still holding him, though he tried to
place her gently back in the chair. “No, no, dear Cecil, never say that
sorrow came of our betrothal, for it is the pride and glory of my life;
and I would that we might be wedded this hour that I might dismiss the
haunting fears of being torn away from you by that wicked old man, my
grandfather. Ah, Cecil, darling, would that you loved me well enough to
make me yours to-day!”

The wild words were uttered, and she waited in sickening suspense and
shame for his answer. She knew, though she dared not look up at his
deathly pale face, how surprised and perhaps disgusted he must feel at
her bold hints, almost entreaties, for an immediate marriage.

He was indeed silent a few minutes from surprise and trouble, then he
said, gently:

“Calm yourself, dear Amber, for there is no cause for these tears.
You need not fear Judge Camden, for you shall remain with us at
Bonnycastle, in my mother’s charge until--until I can make arrangements
for our early marriage.”

Ah, how cruelly it pained his heart, still sore and aching from
Violet’s loss, to promise Amber an early marriage; but her distress
wounded him, and the debt of gratitude he owed her must be paid, at any
cost.

But her agitation only increased, and she cried, in anguish:

“Alas, alas, he may come at any moment to tear me from you! Oh, Cecil,
dear Cecil, forgive me if I seem unmaidenly--if I speak where I ought
to be silent; but I swear to you that my whole life’s happiness rests
on your instant decision, and on the keeping of your faith with me!”

“What would you have me do, Amber?” he asked, in a perplexed tone,
thinking to himself that although her terrors were exaggerated, it was
best to humor her hysterical mood.

With a great throb of hope at her heart, she answered:

“I can never be safe from that vindictive old man until I am your wife,
dear Cecil; and if you care for me, if you value my happiness at all,
surely you will consent to my wish. Listen: my phaeton is at the gate
waiting. Let us fly this hour to Washington and be married. Then we can
return and defy my tyrannical guardian!”

There was a long pause. Amber hid her face against his shoulder, and
the mother and son looked at each other, his eyes questioning, hers
grave, but--affirmative.

“You cannot refuse,” her grave eyes said, sadly enough, for she was
shocked and pained at the girl’s boldness.

Amber lifted her head proudly.

“I am refused. Very well, I will go,” she began, drawing back from him,
but he answered, quietly:

“You are hasty, Amber; I was about to say that it should be as you
wish. You will excuse me one moment while I get ready,” and he went
out, soon returning wrapped in his thick fur-lined overcoat, for a
long, cold drive lay before them, and the air was thick with snowflakes.

Surely never was elopement so quickly planned before, for in ten
minutes they were seated in the phaeton warmly wrapped about in
heavy robes, and the gray pony was skimming over the road to
Washington, bearing the handsome pair--Amber thrilling with joy, Cecil
heavy-hearted and miserable.

The air was keenly cold, and the snow began to fall so fast that the
air was thick with whirling flakes. Amber held the reins herself, and
urged the pony to his highest speed as they flew over mile after mile
of the lonely road in the gloom of the wintry afternoon.

Every moment was an hour to her impatient heart until they should reach
the minister’s and be made one ere Cecil learned that his fair young
love, so cruelly torn away from him, was already widowed and had always
been true to him at heart. Let but this knowledge reach him ere the
marriage, and Amber knew that all her hopes would be overthrown.

It frightened her to think of the letter to Cecil lying hidden on her
breast inside the folds of her warm sealskin jacket, and she determined
to destroy it at the very first opportunity.

They were five miles on their way now, and they had come so fast that
the gray pony was reeking with sweat in spite of the wintry cold.
Cecil ventured to expostulate, but she turned on him with a white,
reproachful face.

“One would think you were reluctant to reach Washington!” she exclaimed.

“You mistake me, dear Amber; but you will kill the poor animal if you
keep up this rate of speed!”

For answer she touched the pony’s back with the whip, and the brave
little animal flew forward like the wind, maintaining its high rate of
speed for half a mile.

Then--perhaps from exhaustion, perhaps from some obstruction in the
road--Cecil never knew which--an accident happened.

The brave pony stumbled and fell, and Cecil and Amber were both thrown
violently out of the phaeton, on either side of the road into the soft
white bed of snow with which Mother Nature was spreading the earth.




CHAPTER XLVII.

WAS SHE DEAD WITH ALL HER SINS UNREPENTED?


Cecil was very fortunate, for he rose uninjured from the ground, with
the exception of a few bruises.

But he trembled with dread when he saw Amber lying as still as death on
the pile of rocks where she had fallen.

Oh, horrors! was she dead? It was more than likely, for her face was
death-like, her eyes closed, and there was a bleeding wound near her
temple, where it had struck in falling upon a sharp rock.

The poor pony lay among the shafts of the overturned phaeton, as he had
fallen, and Cecil surmised that he had broken a limb; but he had no
time to investigate, for Amber needed instant attention.

It seemed like a merciful provision of Providence that the accident had
happened just in front of a neat, pretty cottage, and the inhabitants
had witnessed it from their windows. A woman and a little girl hurried
out, and helped Cecil to carry Amber into the house.

“Oh, the pretty lady; she is dead!” whimpered the child, as the
death-white face of Amber rested among the pillows of the sofa.

Cecil feared that she was right, and he hastily unfastened her heavy
fur jacket, and threw it back to place his hand on her heart. As he
did so, the hidden letter slipped from its concealment and fell to
the floor. He noticed it, but went on with his investigation, feeling
anxiously for the pulsations of Amber’s heart.

“Does it beat?” asked the woman of the house, anxiously.

“Very faintly, I think. This may be only a deep swoon. Will you bring
some water and bathe her head, please?”

The frightened woman obeyed, and then Cecil said, courteously:

“I will go for a doctor if you will direct me to the nearest one.”

“There is one two miles away, sir----” and while she was giving
explicit directions, the little fair-haired girl crept up timidly with
the letter she had picked up from the floor.

“The letter, sir, that dropped from the lady’s jacket.”

“Don’t pester the gentleman, Millie,” said her mother, reprovingly, but
Cecil patted the little sunny head kindly, and took the letter from her
hand with a careless glance at the superscription.

He gave a start of surprise, and his heart leaped stranglingly into his
throat.

The letter was addressed to himself in the beautiful, beloved, familiar
writing of his lost Violet!

He comprehended that Amber had lied to him and kept back this letter,
the mere touch of which made his blood whirl in dizzy waves through his
throbbing heart.

But there was no time to read it now. Thrusting it against his heart,
he dashed out of the door, and hurried in quest of the doctor.

Within half a mile he encountered the person he was seeking, riding
rapidly toward him on horseback, followed by the gardener from Golden
Willows.

“Doctor Perry, I was just going in quest of you. Miss Laurens has been
thrown from her phaeton half a mile back from here, and seriously
injured, I fear,” cried Cecil.

But the old physician answered, brusquely:

“My God, man, I can’t stop! I have been summoned post-haste to Judge
Camden, who has been very strangely seized, and is thought to be dying.
Let Tom Smith here ride back for my neighbor, Doctor Jenner,” and the
old physician galloped past like the wind toward Golden Willows.

“Will you bring the doctor for Miss Laurens, Smith, as I am on foot,
and should make poor progress?” asked Cecil, anxiously.

“Certainly, Mr. Grant, and glad to oblige you,” answered the gardener,
turning his horse’s head and galloping back in the direction he had
come.

Cecil walked quickly back through the high wind and flying snowflakes
to the cottage, where he found Amber still wrapped in deep
unconsciousness, despite all the efforts the mistress of the cottage
had put forth for her recovery.




CHAPTER XLVIII.

IN HIS GRIEF AND PITY, CECIL CAME VERY NEAR TO LOVING AMBER.


During Cecil’s absence, Jasper Melrose, the husband of the kind woman
at the cottage, returned on horseback from the village, and his wife
begged him to see to the poor pony, lying so still in the road, under
the overturned phaeton.

A moment’s examination told the truth. The gray beauty was dead, driven
to exhaustion by the merciless haste of his despotic mistress.

Cecil had scarcely returned, before Tom Smith arrived with Doctor
Jenner, who looked grave, as he examined the unconscious Amber, and
declared that she was suffering from concussion of the brain.

“It is impossible to say just now whether she will ever rally from her
swoon or not. She must be put to bed, and we will do what we can, and
hope for the best,” he said.

He deftly sewed up the gaping wound on her temple, remarking that it
was a great misfortune she had received it, since if she lived, it must
disfigure her beauty for life with a deep scar.

Mrs. Melrose put Amber to bed in her best room, and the physician
declared his intention of remaining all night. He supposed that there
would be a handsome fee from Judge Camden for attendance on his
granddaughter, and determined to spare no attention.

The cottage people supposed that the accident had been the result of a
runaway, and Cecil did not undeceive them. He did not wish any one to
know of the elopement that had ended so tragically.

He did not love Amber, but his heart was full of grief and pain over
her fate; and if she had died, and the truth of her treachery had never
come to light, he would have cherished her memory always as something
sweet and sacred.

Even now, he had no conception of the great importance of the letter
she had intercepted from Violet. For why should she write to him, the
heartless girl, who had deserted him so cruelly, and was now the bride
of another? It was only to taunt him with her happiness, of course.

So he felt no real resentment against Amber for her deceitfulness. He
judged her mercifully, thinking that she had withheld the letter to
spare him pain.

And, in his anxiety over her perilous condition, he scarcely remembered
Violet’s letter, although it lay, unread, upon his breast. Why should
he think of fickle, selfish Violet, when her noble cousin lay stricken
down in all her youth and beauty, never, perhaps, to rise again.

In those moments of his sorrow and gratitude, he was very near to
loving Amber, at last, for pity is akin to love.

Suddenly, Doctor Jenner approached him, and said:

“It is very probable that she will lie in this comatose condition all
night, and as you can do no good by remaining, might it not be a good
plan for you to go and break the news to the family at Golden Willows,
and bring Mrs. Shirley here to see after the young lady?”

“I am not sure that Mrs. Shirley could come, as I am told that Judge
Camden lies at the point of death; but I will go and see,” replied
Cecil, who was very anxious to carry the news to his mother.

Jasper Melrose insisted that he should take his horse, and Cecil
accepted it very thankfully.

But before he left, he went to take a sorrowful look at the death-like
face of Amber.

Oh, how changed, how pallid, how corpse-like it looked in the dim
light. The dark lashes lay prone on the marble cheeks. There was no
color on the lips that had uttered so many cruel falsehoods of sweet
Violet. Cecil shuddered with grief, and pain, and pity, and heaved a
deep sigh as he turned away.




CHAPTER XLIX.

WHAT GLORIOUS NEWS FOR A LOVER!


He threw himself into the saddle, and set out for Golden Willows and
Bonnycastle.

The short winter afternoon was far spent, but the snow had ceased to
fall, and was melting upon the ground. In the sky, the twilight was
darkening over the blue, as he drew rein at Golden Willows.

They told him at the gate that Judge Camden was alive, but going fast,
although the physician was doing all he could to save him. No one knew,
as yet, the cause of his strange seizure.

Mrs. Shirley was in the sick-room when the message came to her that
Cecil Grant was waiting to see her for a moment, on very important
business.

The invalid, whose severe cramps had been subdued, lay still and
death-like on the bed, but he caught the words and made a gesture to
Mrs. Shirley:

“Tell Cecil Grant to come up here,” he said, weakly.

Startled, but not daring to disobey, she went down to Cecil, who
hurriedly imparted his bad news.

“Doctor Perry has already told us, and I am very sorry for Amber, but I
cannot leave Judge Camden,” she replied.

“Is he so very ill, then?” asked Cecil, and she answered:

“We fear that he will die. I will tell you a terrible secret, known
only to the doctor and myself. Judge Camden is suffering from arsenical
poisoning. He drank half a glass of wine given him by Amber, and was
soon seized with terrible cramps, and rang his bell. I answered it, and
finding him suffering so much with his stomach, administered a mustard
emetic, then sent for the doctor. When he came he suspected arsenic
from the symptoms, and found in the half-glass of wine that remained
a quantity of the terrible drug. We cannot imagine how it happened.
Amber must have made a terrible mistake. Fortunately, the judge did not
get the full dose, or he would be dead ere now. Doctor Perry declares
that the mustard emetic saved him, but he is very weak, and may die
of exhaustion. In fact, he believes himself dying, and has asked to
have you sent up to him--I suppose to ask your forgiveness for all his
enmity toward you.”

Cecil could not refuse the plea of a dying man. He followed Mrs.
Shirley to the judge’s room.

The weak eyes rested, with a gratified look, on Cecil, and the old man
said, feebly:

“Doctor Perry, you may leave us alone for a few minutes, please.”

The physician retired, thinking that the young lawyer had been summoned
to draw up the judge’s will, and Mrs. Shirley and Cecil stood waiting
by the bedside.

“I sent Amber to bring you here, Mr. Grant,” quavered the old man’s
feeble voice. “I suppose she told you all about Violet, and the mission
I wanted you to undertake?”

“You surprise me, Judge Camden! I have received no message from you on
the subject.”

“Then Amber played me false, the deceitful girl! and perhaps she made
no mistake when she put the poison in my glass and urged me to drink
it. And--I am dying, I fear, and have little strength to tell you what
is in my mind. But listen: I repent of all my wickedness to you. Can
you forgive me?”

“Freely, sir,” and Cecil pressed the cold, damp hand kindly.

“I thank you,” breathed the judge, in deep emotion, and added: “I
have great news for you. Violet ran away from her husband within an
hour after she married him, and has been missing ever since. I have
sought her everywhere, but in vain, and I believe that you may be more
successful in the quest. Will you find her for me?”

“Surely, sir, that should be her husband’s duty,” Cecil answered, with
irrepressible bitterness.

“But did I not tell you? No, I was forgetting. Harold Castello is dead.
Besides, Violet hated him, and was cruelly tricked into marrying him,
believing it was you, whom she loved, with her whole heart. Ah, Cecil
Grant, you have been cruelly wronged by the plot Amber helped me to
carry out against you; but all will come right now, if you only find
Violet, whose fate is wrapped in impenetrable mystery. Alas! I fear she
has committed suicide!”

What a flood of joy rolled over Cecil’s heart at the judge’s words!

Violet was true! Violet had loved him always! She had been cruelly
tricked into marrying Harold Castello, and had fled from him in horror
and disgust. And now her wicked husband was dead! Oh, what glorious
news for a despairing lover, whose heart had been almost broken by the
news of his adored one’s falsity!

He thought, with a shudder, of how Amber had deceived him, and how
nearly she had come to being his wife--an eternal barrier between him
and his heart’s darling! It dawned on him that retribution overtook her
in the very moment of approaching victory.

“Yes, I will find Violet for you!” he exclaimed, eagerly, his face
glowing with joy.

“She is not dead,” he added, thrusting his hand into his breast, and
bringing out the letter he had at that moment remembered.

“It is Violet’s handwriting!” almost shrieked Mrs. Shirley, and he
answered:

“Amber took it from the post-office this morning, and I found it in her
jacket when she was carried, unconscious, into the Melrose cottage. I
have not read it yet, but I will do so now, and we will soon know where
to find our sweet Violet!”

His happy eyes ran eagerly over the closely written pages, and very
soon their hearts were gladdened by the news that Violet was with
friends, no farther away than Washington. Cecil declared he would go on
the first train and bring her home to Golden Willows.




CHAPTER L.

IN THE ARMS OF LOVE.


Sweet Violet was very nervous and restless during the twenty-four hours
that ensued upon the mailing of her letter to Cecil.

She had poured out to her lost lover all the story of Amber’s
treachery, and prayed him to forgive her for the sorrow she had
unwittingly brought on his devoted heart, in that she was an equal
sufferer with himself in the agony of sorrow and separation.

She thought of him constantly now, wondering how he would receive her
letter, if he would write to her, if he would come to her--above all,
if he would see any way to free her from the detested fetters in which
Harold Castello had bound her life.

She felt a little guilty, too, in having written to Cecil against the
wishes of her friends, and determined at last to confess the truth to
Lena.

On the evening when the tragic events were happening at her old home,
Violet sat with Lena in the pretty little parlor of the Lavarre home.
It was still early, not yet nine o’clock, but the widow, pleading a
headache, had retired to her room, and the two girls were quite alone.

Lena was sitting near a table, crocheting a white wool shawl, and
Violet, in an easy-chair, amused herself with the antics of a little
Maltese kitten in her lap; but the gleam of the gas-light on her lovely
face showed the smile on her lips belied by the haunting sadness of her
great blue eyes.

She said, presently, with a long, quivering sigh:

“Dear Lena, you must not scold me very much when I tell you the truth.
I have been very naughty, and disregarded your good advice. I have
written to Cecil!”

Lena’s work dropped nervously from her hands, but ere she could speak,
Violet, continued, tearfully:

“You cannot blame me, Lena, if you knew how wildly I love my precious
Cecil, and how hard it is to know that he believed me fickle and false,
while all the time I adored him! I have written and told him of all
the treachery that drove me into that hated marriage, and somehow my
heart feels lighter, for surely Cecil will know of some way to free me
from the power of that wicked man. To-morrow, I shall expect to get a
letter from my darling, and I know I shall not sleep an hour to-night,
thinking about it!”

“Oh, my poor Violet”--began Lena, but she was interrupted by a sudden
rat-tat upon the door knocker.

Visitors at that hour were so unusual that both girls uttered a
startled:

“Oh!”

And the blue and brown eyes looked into each other in dismay.

“If it should be--Harold Castello!” cried Lena.

“If it should be--Cecil!” breathed Violet, rapturously and moved toward
the door.

But Lena motioned her back, saying, fearfully:

“Let me go; for what if your enemies have traced you here?”

She left the room, and went out into the hall to open the front door,
while Violet listened eagerly, at the parlor door, which was a little
ajar.

She heard Lena open the door; she heard the murmur of a man’s
voice--the voice that could almost have called her back from death
itself!

She pushed wide the door, and called out in a voice that thrilled with
joy, and love, and longing:

“Cecil! Darling Cecil!”

“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Lena Lavarre, for the intruder brushed wildly
past her, and rushed into the parlor, where Violet, his love Violet,
was waiting.

“My angel!” he cried, and caught her to his heart, clasping her close,
and raining kisses on her beautiful, happy, upturned face.

In the bliss of that fond meeting, the reunited lovers quite forgot
the barrier between their hearts. Violet was transported with joy and
gratitude that he had come so soon in answer to her piteous appeal,
and, nestling in the haven of his dear arms, she held up her red lips
for his kisses like sweet flowers thirsting for rain.

  “You kissed me! My head drooped low on your breast,
  With a feeling of shelter and infinite rest;
  And a holy emotion my tongue dared not speak
  Flashed up in a flame from my heart to my cheek.
  Your arms held me fast. Oh, your arms were so bold!
  Heart beat against heart in that passionate fold.
  Your glances seemed drawing my soul through my eyes,
  As the sun draws the mist from the seas to the skies.
  And your lips clung to mine till I prayed in my bliss
  They might never unclasp from that rapturous kiss!”

Lena Lavarre stood in the door-way, gazing with wet eyes, at the lovers
locked in each other’s arms, while her warm heart ached with pain as
she thought how cruelly they had been sundered, and how brief must be
the bliss of this meeting when both presently awoke to the realization
of the awful barrier between them and happiness.

She did not wonder at Violet’s devotion when she saw the princely
beauty of her tall, dark, stately lover, noble Cecil Grant. She
remembered how madly she had loved once, when she believed the man she
worshiped was noble and true.

She almost felt it wrong to be a witness of this touching scene of
reunited love, and was softly closing the door to go away, when Violet
caught the sound, and turned her head.

“Lena,” she called, quickly. “Dear Lena, do not leave us!”

Blushing deeply, she withdrew herself from Cecil’s arms, faltering
miserably:

“Alas! I have no right to your love now, Cecil; but--but--I was so glad
to hear your voice again, so thrilled by the sight of your face, that I
forgot--everything!”

What a happy, reassuring laugh came from Cecil’s lips, as he cried:

“Come back to my heart, my own true love, for there is no barrier
between us now. Harold Castello is dead!”

They heard a low, wild cry as Lena Lavarre quickly closed the door and
darted away, but they did not know whether it was of joy or sorrow,
they were so absorbed in each other.

Cecil threw himself upon a sofa, and, with his arms around Violet, told
her briefly all that had happened. There was no time to dwell on it at
length, for he had promised that he would take her home that night, to
Judge Camden’s dying bed, if she would go.

When Violet heard of his sickness, and his bitter repentance, all
her resentment melted away in a rush of tears. All his cruelty was
forgotten, his kindness and love alone remembered.

“I will go back to him at once!” she exclaimed, and hurried up stairs
to seek Lena and tell her all.

She found the poor girl weeping hysterically by her mother’s bedside,
and told them everything as quickly as she could, ending by begging
Lena to go with her to Golden Willows.

She hardly dared to hope that Lena would consent, but after a moment
of thought, she accepted the invitation, saying, frankly, that she
wished to hear from the judge’s own lips the story of Harold Castello’s
death, for she hoped that he had repented of all his wickedness, and
made his peace with Heaven.

It was strange that she should be anxious on the subject, but perhaps
her wronged and outraged heart still held some lingering tenderness
for the villain who had made shipwreck of her beautiful youth, for it
is hard for a woman to unlearn the lesson of loving, and, knowing him
dead, she hoped he would not be punished beyond the grave for his sins.

But Mrs. Lavarre, who could remember nothing but the murder of her good
old husband, and the betrayal of her innocent daughter, rejoiced in the
knowledge that Harold Castello had passed to his dread account with
offended Heaven.

“Ah, how strange is life!” cried poor Lena. “Do you remember, mother
and Violet, how I told you about seeing Jacques Brown in a funeral
procession, on its way to the cemetery? How strange that my own heart
did not tell me that Harold Castello lay in that coffin under the
nodding hearse plumes, on his way to the grave! Yet, so it was, and he
is swept from the earth, never more to bring sorrow to a woman’s heart.”

“It is Heaven’s judgment upon the wicked,” her mother answered,
solemnly.

The two girls were soon ready for the trip, and after bidding an
affectionate adieu to Mrs. Lavarre, they went down to the carriage that
Cecil had waiting, and were soon driven to the train that was to take
Violet back to the scenes from which she had been so cruelly torn. The
journey was brief, and they talked but little, for the shadow of the
tragedy at Golden Willows lay darkly on their hearts, and they wondered
if Amber had indeed tried to murder her old grandfather, or if it was
only an awful mistake. Perhaps she was already dead, and the mystery
of the poison in her grandfather’s glass might never be revealed.

The carriage was waiting for them at the station, and it was just
midnight when they arrived at Golden Willows.

Mrs. Shirley met Violet at the door, and sobbed for joy, as she kissed
and caressed her bonny favorite, whom she had so sorely missed. She
gave Lena Lavarre a cordial welcome, and then told them that Judge
Camden was still alive, and seemingly better, although very weak. She
added that he was counting the minutes until Violet’s arrival; so as
soon as she had removed her heavy fur wraps, the girl hastened to his
bedside.

Oh, what a cry of grief came from her sweet lips as she saw the proud,
strong old man so altered, looking years older in the weeks since she
had seen him--so old, so wan, so ill! She fell on her knees by his
bed, and kissed his pale cheek, sobbing out all her love and her noble
forgiveness.




CHAPTER LI.

“UNTIL DEATH DO US PART.”


It almost seemed as if the news that Violet was still alive, and her
return to Golden Willows, put new life into the stern old judge.

He began to rally from his extreme depression, and when Violet had
staid with him a little while, he fell into a peaceful sleep, that
lasted until morning.

Meanwhile, Cecil had hurried home to tell his mother of the startling
events that had happened since he had left her at noon with Amber.
Mrs. Shirley had sent a maid from Golden Willows to nurse Amber at the
Melrose cottage, so he did not think it necessary to go back there.

But when he had told Mrs. Grant all the story of Amber’s treachery, she
sighed deeply, and said:

“Poor girl! she has been very wicked, and I am glad you escaped the
marriage she planned for you. But, Cecil, we must not forget her
great kindness, nor the gratitude we owe her for the loan that saved
Bonnycastle.”

“But, mother, it seems as if she deliberately planned the foreclosure
of the mortgage, in order to work out her plan of the elopement, and to
snare me in her toils,” he replied, indignantly.

“Poor Amber! was she indeed so wicked? But yet, I pity her, now that
her sins have found her out, and she is so desolate and forsaken. And
since Mrs. Shirley cannot go to her, Cecil, why it almost seems my duty
to care for her now; so, early in the morning, you must take me to the
Melrose cottage.”

He did not gainsay her wish, and took her in a carriage the next
morning.

But there was no change in Amber. She lay unconscious, as on the night
before; and Cecil left his mother at the cottage, and rode to Golden
Willows to see Violet.

She came to meet him, so bright, so beautiful, in her soft, white
cashmere morning-dress, bound at the waist with a white silken cord,
and all her golden curls loose about her shoulders, like ripples of
spun gold. The sweet rosebud lips were lifted frankly for his fond kiss.

“Grandpapa is so much better this morning. He has been talking to
us--telling us”--she said, and paused.

“Of Harold Castello’s death?” asked Cecil.

“Yes,” she answered, “and Lena was very glad that he repented his sins
before he died. He had a priest sent for, and confessed his sins and
received absolution. He left a message for me, praying my pardon for
his sins against me, and that I would never reveal all the evil I knew
of him, since he had passed beyond earthly punishment to the bar of
Heaven. Cecil,” and she lifted her wistful blue eyes to his adoring
face.

“What is it, my darling?”

She answered, with a catch in her breath, like a repressed sob:

“I knew much evil of this man that I have never spoken. Is it right for
me to keep silence now?”

“Yes, Violet, it is right. The dead are sacred. If we cannot speak in
praise of them, and if silence can wrong no one, it is best.”

“I am glad you think so, for his terrible suffering in death has
touched my heart. And Lena forgives him now, and his wrongs against her
were greater than mine.”

“It is noble in you both,” he said, admiringly.

“But, Cecil, there is something else that distresses me very much, but
grandpapa says I must accept it.”

“What is it, my Violet?”

“I--I--am his widow, you know. Is it not horrible to think of, dear?
But it cannot be helped, you know, for the marriage was legal. But
he had no relatives, and--and--he left me all his wealth--several
millions, grandpapa says. I--I--wish to refuse it, but he says there
is no way to do it. And the dying man begged I would accept it in
atonement for all I had suffered through his sins.”

“And you wish to refuse it, my darling? But I do not blame you. There
is Lena, whom he wronged so deeply. You can give it to her, Violet.”

“I have offered it to her, but she refused, for there are reasons that
would make it dreadful for her to accept. And grandpapa has been saying
that I am very foolish to refuse this fortune. He said I might do so
much good with it--help the poor, you know--and--and”--shyly, “restore
Bonnycastle when we are married. It tempted me a little, dear, for I
should like to see Bonnycastle rebuilt--it will be my future home! So
what shall I do, my darling?”

“You might think me mercenary if I counseled you to accept it, dear
one, since you will be my wife. You must decide for yourself.”

“Then I will do as Mr. Castello wished, and as grandpapa counsels, for
I shall then be very rich, and can do much good with the money.”

Cecil did not dissuade her, for he thought that she had suffered enough
at Castello’s hands to merit this compensation. He did not covet the
money for himself, but he knew that it would add to the happiness of
his wife.

So she told Judge Camden she would accept the royal dower, and he was
well pleased.

“But, Lena, it should have been yours instead,” she said, sadly; but
Lena shook her head.

“You forget poor father,” she said. “No, no! I could not touch a cent
of it. I care nothing now for worldly pleasures, and at the death of
my poor mother, who is fast failing in health, I shall retire into a
convent to end my days.”

Violet saw that there was no use urging her about the money. The wound
in her heart was mortal.

She remained a few days at Golden Willows, until Judge Camden was out
of danger, then returned to her home in Washington. A few weeks later
her mother died, and she carried out her vow of entering a convent. The
wonderful beauty that had proved her ruin was hidden beneath the black
vail of the nun. When Violet donned the misty vail to become the adored
bride of the man she worshiped, Lena Lavarre had already spoken the
solemn vows that made her the pious bride of Heaven.

After Violet had held that conversation with Cecil, she said to him:

“I wish you to take me to see Amber. Although she has sinned against
me, I forgive her, because I am so very happy; and I pity her for the
jealous love that made her cruel and wicked.”

“I will take you to the cottage. My mother is already there,” replied
Cecil.

Violet went to her grandfather.

“I am going to see Amber. You must send her your forgiveness,” she
pleaded.

He demurred at first, but he could not refuse anything to Violet, who
had forgiven so much to him; so he agreed that he would forgive Amber’s
sins, and let her come home if she recovered.

But the next day Amber came home to Golden Willows in her coffin.

When Cecil and Violet reached the cottage, the beautiful sinner who
had risked and lost all for the sake of a mad love, had just expired,
without ever fully regaining consciousness.

Violet kissed the poor, dead face, whose beauty was all marred by that
ghastly scar, and wept bitterly on Mrs. Grant’s motherly breast. She
had hoped so much that Amber would get well and repent, but it was not
to be. The fiery heart and burning brain were stilled forever.

So they robed her in snowy white, with flowers on her pulseless breast,
and bore her back to her old home, and the secret of her sins was
hidden in sacred silence in the breasts of the few that knew them. A
few days later she had a stately funeral, and was laid to rest in the
family grave-yard, under the whirling winter snow. The whole county
mourned for beautiful Amber, who had come to so untimely an end, and
the broken marble shaft that rose above her dreamless head, told no
secrets of the wayward heart and mind that had driven her into sin and
brought her to death.

Judge Camden was deeply moved when he heard the story of Mrs. Grant’s
attendance at Amber’s death-bed. He realized that she was not the
proud, heartless woman he had imagined, and thanked her, in a brief,
grateful note, for her friendship for his dead granddaughter. She
replied by telling how Amber had saved Bonnycastle, and then he
understood everything--how terribly the girl had fought for victory
in all her aims. He always tried to believe that Amber had made some
terrible mistake when she placed the arsenic in his glass.

“She thought it was a sleeping potion, I am sure,” he said to gentle
Mrs. Shirley, who sighed, without replying.

“But,” continued the judge, “I should have died, the doctor says, but
for the timely emetic you gave me, madame.”

“I am very glad I could pay some of the debt of gratitude I owe you,
by saving your life,” she answered, in her simple, gentle way, and the
old man, who was getting well again, and seemed to have years of life
before him, looked at her quite tenderly.

“You owe me no gratitude, for I have always been a bear to you,” he
protested.

“Oh, no, judge; you have always been very kind to me!”

“Then, since you have such a good opinion of me, madame, suppose we get
married, and make each other happy for the rest of our lives? When I
die, I’ll give you a life interest in my property, and at your death,
it will revert to our dear Violet.”

Mrs. Shirley agreed to this offer as amiably as she always accepted
the judge’s propositions; and she found, on marrying him, that her lot
was very much bettered. He made quite an affectionate old husband, and
dropped many of his bearish ways in honor of the timid, gentle lady who
bore his name.

In the golden spring-time, when the violets were blooming in the shady
dells, Cecil Grant gathered to his tender heart the fair Violet of
Golden Willows, to have and hold in perfect bliss forever, “until death
do us part.”


(THE END.)




BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY

ISSUED SEMI-MONTHLY

The only complete line of Bertha M. Clay’s stories. Many of these
titles are copyrighted and cannot be found in any other edition.


ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT

    TO THE PUBLIC:--These books are sold by news dealers
    everywhere. If your dealer does not keep them, and will
    not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in
    which case four cents must be added to the price per
    copy to cover postage.

==============================================================
    1--A Bitter Atonement.
    2--Dora Thorne.
    3--A Golden Heart.
    4--Lord Lisle’s Daughter.
    5--The Mystery of Colde Fell; or, “Not Proven.”
    6--Diana’s Discipline; or, Sunshine and Roses.
    7--A Dark Marriage Morn.
    8--Hilda’s Lover; or, The False Vow; or, Lady Hutton’s Ward.
    9--Her Mother’s Sin; or, A Bright Wedding Day.
   10--One Against Many.
   11--For Another’s Sin; or, A Struggle for Love.
   12--At War With Herself.
   13--Evelyn’s Folly.
   14--A Haunted Life.
   15--Lady Damer’s Secret.
   16--His Wife’s Judgment.
   17--Lady Castlemaine’s Divorce; or, Put Asunder.
   19--Two Fair Women; or, Which Loved Him Best?
   21--Wife in Name Only.
   22--The Sin of a Lifetime.
   23--The World Between Them.
   24--Prince Charlie’s Daughter.
   25--A Thorn in Her Heart.
   26--A Struggle for a Ring.
   27--The Shadow of a Sin.
   28--A Rose in Thorns.
   29--A Woman’s Love Story.
   30--The Romance of a Black Veil.
   31--Redeemed by Love; or, Love’s Conflict; or, Love Works Wonders.
   32--Lord Lynne’s Choice.
   33--Set in Diamonds.
   34--The Romance of a Young Girl; or, The Heiress of Hill-drop.
   35--A Woman’s War.
   36--On Her Wedding Morn, and Her Only Sin.
   37--Weaker Than a Woman.
   38--Love’s Warfare.
   40--A Nameless Sin.
   41--A Mad Love.
   42--Hilary’s Folly; or, Her Marriage Vow.
   43--Madolin’s Lover.
   44--The Belle of Lynn; or, The Miller’s Daughter.
   45--Lover and Husband.
   46--Beauty’s Marriage, and Between Two Sins.
   47--The Duke’s Secret.
   48--Her Second Love.
   49--Addie’s Husband, and Arnold’s Promise.
   50--A True Magdalen; or, One False Step.
   51--For a Woman’s Honor.
   52--Claribel’s Love Story; or, Love’s Hidden Depths.
   53--A Fiery Ordeal.
   54--The Gipsy’s Daughter.
   55--Golden Gates.
   56--The Squire’s Darling, and Walter’s Wooing.
   57--Violet Lisle.
   58--Griselda.
   59--One False Step.
   60--A Heart’s Idol.
   61--The Earl’s Error, and Letty Leigh.
   63--Another Woman’s Husband.
   64--Wedded and Parted, and Fair But False.
   65--His Perfect Trust.
   66--Gladys Greye.
   67--In Love’s Crucible.
   68--’Twixt Love and Hate.
   69--Fair But Faithless.
   70--A Heart’s Bitterness.
   71--Marjorie Dean.
   72--Between Two Hearts.
   73--Her Martyrdom.
   74--Thorns and Orange Blossoms.
   75--A Bitter Bondage.
   76--A Guiding Star.
   77--A Fair Mystery.
   78--Another Man’s Wife.
   79--An Ideal Love.
   80--The Earl’s Atonement.
   81--Between Two Loves.
   82--A Dead Heart, and Love for a Day.
   83--A Fatal Dower.
   84--Lady Latimer’s Escape, and Other Stories.
   85--A Woman’s Error.
   86--Guelda.
   87--Beyond Pardon.
   88--If Love Be Love.
   89--A Coquette’s Conquest.
   90--In Cupid’s Net, and So Near and Yet So Far.
   91--Under a Shadow.
   92--At Any Cost, and A Modern Cinderella.
   94--Margery Daw.
   95--A Woman’s Temptation.
   96--The Actor’s Ward.
   97--Repented at Leisure.
   98--James Gordon’s Wife.
   99--For Life and Love, and More Bitter Than Death.
  100--In Shallow Waters.
  101--A Broken Wedding Ring.
  102--Dream Faces.
  103--Two Kisses, and The Fatal Lilies.
  105--A Hidden Terror.
  106--Wedded Hands.
  107--From Out the Gloom.
  108--Her First Love.
  109--A Bitter Reckoning.
  110--Thrown on the World.
  111--Irene’s Vow.
  112--His Wedded Wife.
  113--Lord Elesmere’s Wife.
  114--A Woman’s Vengeance.
  115--A Queen Amongst Women and An Unnatural Bondage.
  116--The Queen of the County.
  117--A Struggle for the Right.
  118--The Paths of Love.
  119--Blossom and Fruit.
  120--The Story of an Error.
  121--The White Witch.
  123--Lady Muriel’s Secret.
  124--The Hidden Sin.
  125--For a Dream’s Sake.
  126--The Gambler’s Wife.
  127--A Great Mistake.
  128--Society’s Verdict.
  129--Lady Gwendoline’s Dream.
  130--The Rival Heiresses.
  131--A Bride from the Sea, and Other Stories.
  132--A Woman’s Trust.
  133--A Dream of Love.
  134--The Sins of the Father.
  135--For Love of Her.
  136--A Loving Maid.
  137--A Heart of Gold.
  138--The Price of a Bride.
  139--Love in a Mask.
  140--A Woman’s Witchery.
  141--The Burden of a Secret.
  142--One Woman’s Sin.
  143--How Will It End?
  144--The Hand Without a Wedding Ring.
  145--A Sinful Secret.
  146--Lady Marchmont’s Widowhood.
  147--The Broken Trust.
  148--Lady Ethel’s Whim.
  149--A Wife’s Peril.
  150--The Tragedy of Lime Hall.
  151--Lady Ona’s Sin.
  152--A Bitter Courtship.
  153--A Tragedy of Love and Hate.
  154--A Stolen Heart.
  155--Every Inch a Queen.
  156--A Maid’s Misery.
  157--Love’s Redemption.
  158--The Sunshine of His Life.
  159--The Lost Lady of Haddon.
  160--The Love of Lady Aurelia.
  161--His Great Temptation.
  162--An Evil Heart.
  163--Gladys’ Wedding Day.
  164--Lost for Love.
  165--On With the New Love.
  168--A Fateful Passion.
  169--A Captive Heart.
  170--A Deceptive Lover.
  171--An Untold Passion.
  172--A Purchased Love.
  173--The Queen of His Soul.
  174--A Pilgrim of Love.
  175--The Girl of His Heart.
  176--A Wife’s Devotion.
  177--The Price of Love.
  178--When Love and Hate Conflict.
  180--A Misguided Love.
  181--The Chains of Jealousy.
  182--A Loveless Engagement.
  183--A Heart’s Worship.
  184--A Queen Triumphant.
  185--Between Love and Ambition.
  186--True Love’s Reward.
  187--A Poisoned Heart.
  188--What It Cost Her.
  189--Paying the Penalty.
  190--The Old Love or the New?
  191--Her Honored Name.
  192--A Coquette’s Victim.
  193--An Ocean of Love.
  194--Sweeter Than Life.
  195--For Her Heart’s Sake.
  196--Her Beautiful Foe.
  197--A Soul Ensnared.
  198--A Heart Forlorn.
  199--Strong in Her Love.
  200--Fair as a Lily.
  205--Her Bitter Sorrow.
  210--Hester’s Husband.
  215--An Artful Plotter.
  228--A Vixen’s Love.
  232--The Dawn of Love.
  236--Love’s Coronet.
  237--The Unbroken Vow.
  238--Her Heart’s Hero.
  239--An Exacting Love.
  240--A Wild Rose.
  241--In Defiance of Fate.
  242--For Lack of Gold.
  244--Two True Hearts.
  245--Baffled by Fate.
  246--Two Men and a Maid.
  247--A Cruel Revenge.
  248--The Flower of Love.
  249--Mistress of Her Fate.
  250--The Wooing of a Maid.
  251--A Blighted Blossom.
  252--Loved Forevermore.
  253--For Old Love’s Sake.
  254--Love’s Debt.
  255--A Happy Conquest.
  256--Tender and True.
  257--The Love He Spurned.
  258--Withered Flowers.
  259--When Woman Wills.
  260--Love’s Twilight.
  261--True to His First Love.
  262--Suffered in Silence.
  263--A Modest Passion.
  264--Beyond All Dreams.
  265--Loved and Lost.
  266--The Bride of the Manor.
  267--Love, the Avenger.
  268--Wedded at Dawn.
  269--A Shattered Romance.
  270--With Love at the Helm.
  271--Humbled Pride.
  272--Love Finds a Way.
  273--An Ardent Wooing.
  274--Love Grown Cold.
  275--Love Hath Wings.
  276--When Hot Tears Flow.
  277--The Wages of Deceit.
  278--Love and the World.
  279--Love’s Sweet Hour.
  280--Faithful and True.
  281--Sunshine and Shadow.
  282--For Love or Wealth?
  283--A Crown of Faith.
  284--The Harvest of Sin.
  285--A Secret Sorrow.
  286--In Quest of Love.
  287--Beyond Atonement.
  288--A Girl’s Awakening.
  289--The Hero of Her Dreams.
  290--Love’s Burden.
  291--Only a Flirt.
  292--When Love is Kind.
  293--An Elusive Lover.
  294--The Hour of Temptation.
  295--Where Love Leads.
  296--Her Struggle With Love.
  297--In Spite of Fate.
  298--Can This Be Love?
  299--The Love of His Youth.
  300--Enchained by Passion.
  301--The New Love or the Old?
  302--At Her Heart’s Command.
  303--Cast Upon His Care.
  304--All Else Forgot.
  305--Sinner or Victim?
  307--Answered in Jest.
  308--Her Heart’s Problem.
  309--Rich in His Love.
  310--For Better, For Worse.
  311--Love’s Caprice.
  312--When Hearts Are Young.
  314--In the Golden City.
  315--A Love Victorious.
  316--Her Heart’s Delight.
  317--The Heart of His Heart.
  318--Even This Sacrifice.
  319--Love’s Crown Jewel.
  320--Suffered in Vain.
  321--In Love’s Bondage.
  322--Lady Viola’s Secret.
  323--Adrift on Love’s Tide.
  324--The Quest of His Heart.
  325--Under Cupid’s Seal.
  326--Earlescourt’s Love.
  327--Dearer Than Life.
  328--Toward Love’s Goal.
  329--Her Heart’s Surrender.
  330--Tempted to Forget.
  331--The Love That Blinds.
  332--A Daughter of Misfortune.
  333--When False Tongues Speak.
  334--A Tempting Offer.
  335--With Love’s Strong Bonds.
  336--That Plain Little Girl.
  337--And This is Love!
  338--The Secret of Estcourt.
  339--For His Love’s Sake.
  340--Outside Love’s Door.
  341--At Love’s Fountain.
  342--A Lucky Girl.
  343--A Dream Come True.
  344--By Love’s Order.
  345--Fettered for Life.
  346--Beyond the Shadow.
  347--The Love That Won.
  348--Fair to Look Upon.
  349--A Daughter of Eve.
  350--When Cupid Frowns.
  351--The Wiles of Love.
  352--What the World Said.
  353--Mabel and May.
  354--Her Love and His.
  355--A Captive Fairy.
  356--Her Sacred Trust.
  357--A Child of Caprice.
  358--He Dared to Love.
  359--While the World Scoffed.
  360--On Love’s Highway.
  361--One of Love’s Slaves.
  362--The Lure of the Flame.
  363--A Love in the Balance.
  364--A Woman of Whims.
  365--In a Siren’s Web.
  366--The Tie That Binds.
  367--Love’s Harsh Mandate.
  368--Love’s Carnival.
  369--With Heart and Voice.
  370--In Love’s Hands.
  371--Hearts of Oak.
  372--A Garland of Love.
  373--Among Love’s Briers.
  374--Love Never Fails.
  375--The Other Man’s Choice.
  376--A Lady of Quality.
  377--On Love’s Demand.
  378--A Fugitive from Love.
  379--His Sweetheart’s Promise.
  380--The Schoolgirl Bride.
  381--Her One Ambition.
  382--Love for Love.
  383--His Fault or Hers?
  384--New Loves for Old.
  385--Her Proudest Possession.
  386--Cupid Always Wins.
  387--Love is Life Indeed.
  388--When Scorn Greets Love.
  389--Love’s Potent Charm.
  390--By Love Alone.
  391--When Love Conspires.
  392--No Thought of Harm.
  393--Cupid’s Prank.
  394--A Sad Awakening.
  395--What Could She Do?
  396--Sharing His Burden.
  397--Steadfast in Her Love.
  398--A Love Despised.
  399--One Life, One Love.
  400--When Hope is Lost.
  401--A Heart Unclaimed.
  402--His Dearest Wish.
  403--Her Cup of Sorrow.
  404--When Love is Curbed.
  405--A Pitiful Mistake.
  406--A Love Profound.
  407--A Bitter Sacrifice.
  408--What Love is Worth.
  409--When Life’s Roses Bloom.
  410--Her Only Choice.
  411--Forged on Love’s Anvil.
  412--She Hated Him!
  413--When Love’s Charm is Broken.
  414--Led by Destiny.
  415--When Others Sneered.
  416--Golden Fetters.
  417--The Love That Prospered.
  418--The Song of the Siren.
  419--Love’s Gentle Whisper.
  420--The Girl Who Won.
  421--The Love That Was Stifled.
  422--The Love of a Lifetime.
  423--Her One Mistake.
  424--At War With Fate.
  425--When Love Lures.
  426--’Twixt Wealth and Want.
  427--Love’s Pleasant Dreams.
  428--Sir John’s Heiress.


Published during August, 1913

  429--A Terrible Mistake.
  430--The Eyes of Jealousy.


Published during September, 1913

  431--The Romance of a Business Girl.
  432--Was He the Man?


Published during October, 1913

  433--The Master of Tredcroft.
  434--The Deverell Heritage.


Published during November, 1913

  435--The Swoop of the Vulture.
  436--A Phantom of the Past.


Published during December, 1913

  437--A Fleet of Dreams.
  438--Love and Reason.

In order that there may be no confusion, we desire to say that the
books listed above will be issued, during the respective months, in New
York City and vicinity. They may not reach the readers, at a distance,
promptly, on account of delays in transportation.




The Only Complete Line of Mrs. Southworth’s Novels

Southworth Library

(THE EDEN SERIES)


This library was formerly known as the “Eden Series,” but inasmuch as
it contains exclusively all the popular novels of the famous Mrs. E. D.
E. N. Southworth, we believe that the new name is more indicative of
its character.

There are eighty-five different titles contained in it, forty of which
are the author’s later copyrights, and which therefore cannot be had in
any other edition.

    TO THE PUBLIC:--These books are sold by news dealers
    everywhere. If your dealer does not keep them, and will
    not get them for you, send direct to the publishers, in
    which case four cents must be added to the price per
    copy to cover postage.

=========================================================================
    1--Retribution.                        By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
    2--Ishmael.                            By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
    3--Self-raised.                        By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Ishmael”
    4--India; or, The Pearl of Pearl River.
                                           By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
    5--The Missing Bride.                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
    6--The Curse of Clifton.               By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
    7--Vivia; or, The Secret of Power.     By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
    8--The Lost Heiress.                   By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
    9--The Discarded Daughter; or, The Children of the Isle.
                                           By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   10--The Mother-in-Law; or, Married in Haste.
                                           By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   11--The Deserted Wife.                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   12--The Wife’s Victory.                 By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   13--The Three Sisters.                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   14--The Christmas Guest.                By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   15--The Haunted Homestead.              By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   16--The Fortune Seeker.                 By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   17--The Family Doom.                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   18--The Maiden Widow.                   By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Family Doom”
   19--The Gipsy’s Prophecy.               By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   20--The Bride’s Dowry.                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   21--The Widow’s Son.                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. I. Left Alone)
   22--The Bride of Llewellyn.             By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. II. Left Alone)
        Sequel to “The Widow’s Son”
   23--The Bridal Eve.                     By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   24--The Two Sisters                     By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   25--Eudora; or, The False Princess      By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   26--Love’s Labor Won                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   27--Fair Play                           By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. I. Britomarte)
   28--How He Won Her                      By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. II. Britomarte)
        Sequel to “Fair Play”
   29--The Three Beauties; or, Shannondale
                                           By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   30--The Broken Engagement               By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   31--The Doom of Deville                 By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   32--The Changed Brides                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. I. Winning Her Way)
   33--The Bride’s Fate                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. II. Winning Her Way)
        Sequel to “The Changed Brides”
   34--The Lady of the Isle                By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   35--The Lost Heir of Linlithgow         By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   36--A Noble Lord                        By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Lost Heir of Linlithgow”
   37--A Beautiful Fiend                   By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   38--Victor’s Triumph                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “A Beautiful Fiend”
   39--Cruel as the Grave                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. I. The Halloween Mystery)
   40--Tried for Her Life                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        (Vol. II. The Halloween Mystery)
        Sequel to “Cruel as the Grave”
   41--Unknown                             By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   42--The Mystery of Raven Rocks          By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Unknown”
   52--The Hidden Hand                     By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
   53--Capitola’s Peril                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Hidden Hand”
   81--The Artist’s Love                   By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  133--Nearest and Dearest                 By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  134--Little Nea’s Engagement             By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Nearest and Dearest”
  136--Only a Girl’s Heart                 By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  137--Gertrude’s Sacrifice                By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Only a Girl’s Heart”
  138--The Rejected Bride                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Gertrude’s Sacrifice”
  139--A Husband’s Devotion                By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Rejected Bride”
  140--Gertrude Haddon                     By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “A Husband’s Devotion”
  141--Reunited                            By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Gertrude Haddon”
  142--Em                                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  143--Em’s Husband                        By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Em”
  144--The Unloved Wife                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  145--Lilith                              By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Unloved Wife”
  146--The Bride’s Ordeal                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  147--Her Love or Her Life?               By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Bride’s Ordeal”
  148--The Lost Lady of Lone               By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  149--The Struggle of a Soul              By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Lost Lady of Lone”
  150--The Trail of the Serpent            By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  151--A Tortured Heart                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Trail of the Serpent”
  152--The Test of Love                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “A Tortured Heart”
  153--Gloria                              By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  154--David Lindsay                       By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Gloria”
  155--Why Did He Wed Her?                 By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  156--For Whose Sake?                     By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Why Did He Wed Her?”
  157--A Skeleton in the Closet            By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  158--Brandon Coyle’s Wife                By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “A Skeleton in the Closet”
  159--A Deed Without a Name               By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  160--Dorothy Harcourt’s Secret           By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “A Deed Without a Name”
  161--To His Fate                         By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Dorothy Harcourt’s Secret”
  162--For Woman’s Love                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  163--Unrequited Love                     By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “For Woman’s Love”
  164--The Widows of Widowville            By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  165--When Love Commands                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “The Widows of Widowville”
  166--Fulfilling Her Destiny              By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “When Love Commands”
  167--A Leap in the Dark                  By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  168--The Mysterious Marriage             By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “A Leap in the Dark”
  169--Her Mother’s Secret                 By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  170--Love’s Bitterest Cup                By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Her Mother’s Secret”
  171--When Shadows Die                    By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Love’s Bitterest Cup”
  172--Sweet Love’s Atonement              By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
  173--Zenobia’s Suitors                   By Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth
        Sequel to “Sweet Love’s Atonement”




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Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.

Italics are represented thus _italic_, bold is represented thus =bold=.