Everything looked very dark and hopeless, but he could not entertain, for one moment, his mother’s advice to give up Violet. “She cannot dream how truly I love my darling, or she would know that the loss of her would wreck my life,” he thought. “Since I first met Violet the whole world has grown brighter and more joyful. I have seemed to live more fully, to rest more sweetly. I can never put her out of my heart, nor relinquish the hope of one day calling her mine,” and he recalled some sweet, tender lines, somewhere read, that seemed to image his own feelings: “Forget thee, dear? God knows how in the silence of the night, Forgetful how tired I am, I think of thee till, like a soothing balm, Sleep, drooping on my lids, puts thought to flight. “Forget thee, dear? God knows I have no longer any choice! Love’s seal is set upon me, nor can I, With placid beating heart, again deny The mastery and magic of thy voice. “Forget thee, dear? God knows I would not if I could; For sweeter far has been to me the pain Of love unsatisfied than all the vain And ill-spent years I lived before we met. “Forget thee, dear? God knows if I were lying dead to-day, To ashes turned in a forgotten grave, And to my dust he mercifully gave The power to speak one word, thy name I’d say.” The sound of light wheels startled him from his sorrowful reverie, and, looking quickly up, he saw that he had wandered from the river-path to the open road, and, in a natty little phaeton rolling along the smooth gravel sat Amber Laurens, superbly attired, and handling the ribbons with consummate skill. Cecil tried to retreat to the shade of some trees by the road, but he was too late. The beauty had seen him, and she chirped to her little gray pony to stop. Then she called, airily: “If you hide from me, Mr. Grant, you will miss the message I have for you from Violet.” These words brought him quickly to the side of the phaeton, where he bowed to her, stiffly, for it was their first meeting since the night he had saved Violet from the river, and his heart was hot with resentment over her treachery. “You have a message for me from Violet?” he cried, eagerly. “Please tell it to me quickly, for my heart is almost broken with suspense over my poor, ill-treated, suffering girl.” CHAPTER XI. AMBER’S FRIENDSHIP. She could have slain him for the tenderness of his words and tone, but she only smiled blandly. “You received my note, Cecil?” “Yes,” and he frowned impatiently, for it was a weak attempt to deny what Violet had told him that night. “But you never answered it,” reproachfully. “I did not think it necessary,” he replied, coldly. “You did not credit my denial?” sadly. “Pray pardon me from discussing it with you,” Cecil rejoined, in icy tones, and she flushed with wounded pride.