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.