“Violet and I are deeply in love with each other, Judge Camden, and I ask you to give her to me as my cherished wife!” “Never!” thundered the stern old man, striding angrily away with Violet. CHAPTER VII. “HOW CAN I BEAR TO BE PARTED SO CRUELLY FROM MY DARLING?” They carried Violet back to her bed, and Mrs. Shirley did everything possible to counteract the effects of her terrible excitement and exposure. As soon as Cecil’s back was turned, Amber vehemently declared her innocence of his charges, vowing that Violet had fancied it all in her delirium. No one contradicted her, for in their alarm over Violet, they scarcely listened to her words. But that brief interview with Cecil, and the sweet assurance of his fidelity, had been more potent for good in Violet’s case than medicine. She yielded meekly to all Mrs. Shirley’s ministrations, and at last sank into a sweet and saving sleep that lasted until morning. And, in spite of Amber’s secret prayers that she would die, the invalid began to convalesce slowly but surely, so that, by the middle of September, she could sit by the window in her easy-chair, and look out at the winding river and the wooded hills, whose dark green began to change to the crimson and gold of autumn. Amber had been very shy of the sick-room after that night, when Cecil had foiled her clever scheme, but one bright morning she came into the room, determined to brave it out. Violet was in her chair at the open window, and the sunshine came into the pretty blue and white room and beamed lovingly on its fair, golden-haired mistress in her soft, white cashmere wrapper, with its cascades of misty lace. It did not touch Amber’s cruel heart in the least to see how frail and flower-like her rival looked. She was inwardly sorry that she had not died. “Good-morning, Violet,” she said, coolly, sinking into a chair. “So you are in your right mind again, and can realize what a cruel wrong you did me that night?” “Wrong!” echoed Violet, in surprise. “Yes, in what you told Cecil Grant about me. I did not say he was false to you. You either dreamed it all, or imagined it in your delirium, for you were always crying out that Cecil loved Amber best, and that you did not want to live.” “I do not remember any such fancies,” Violet answered, with incredulous blue eyes. “Of course not, for people never remember the ravings of fever. But you fancied it all, Violet, for I never mentioned Cecil to you that night; and you did me a cruel wrong in telling Cecil that I did. He was my friend before, but you turned him against me by your cruel story.” Her assurance staggered Violet’s belief in her own memory. She had been so ill, she had suffered so much, that her brain was still a little dazed and uncertain. Was it possible she had dreamed it all--that Amber was not cruel and wicked, as she seemed? Amber saw the doubt in the sweet, lovely face, and hastened to add: “You see now that you were wrong, Violet.”