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!