“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.