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.