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.