“Oh, how cruelly I am misunderstood!” she exclaimed. “Listen, Cecil. Only this morning Violet admitted to me that what she told you that night was only a vision of her delirious brain, and begged my pardon for the wrong I did her. She is deeply grieved over it, and said that as soon as she saw you she would vindicate my truthfulness to you.” Cecil turned a keen glance on the dark, sparkling face, and it looked so frank and earnest and truthful, that he did not know how to doubt her statement. “Oh, please believe me,” cried Amber, with sweet solicitude. “Indeed I am your true friend, Cecil, and Violet’s, too--alas, the only friend you have, for every one at Golden Willows is against you, and if you do not trust me with your letters to her, I do not know how you are ever to communicate with her at all.” “Will you drive with me a little way, as my pony is restless and will not stop longer,” she added, sweetly. He assented, and they drove slowly along the road in the sweet September afternoon. “Will not Violet come out to drive soon? Surely it would do her good,” he exclaimed. “Yes, but grandpapa will not permit it. He is afraid she will elope with you, Cecil, and he will not allow her to leave the house until she goes as the bride of the man he has chosen for her to marry in a week, Harold Castello, a rich young man of Chicago, who has seen Violet somewhere and become enamored of her beauty. Grandpapa met him in Chicago, and he proposed for her hand.” “But good heavens, Amber, this old man cannot force Violet to marry against her will!” “He is trying to do so and using every means in his power to bend her to his will. Oh, I am so sorry for you and Violet!” cried Amber, with a sympathetic glance that touched his heart and made him repent his harshness of a while ago. “Thank you,” he said, heartily. “Forgive me, Amber, if I have wronged you. I cannot afford to lose a single friend now. And will you indeed be so good as to carry letters for us, since it is impossible for me to meet my darling yet?” “I will carry letters for you every day, and bring Violet’s replies to you,” declared Amber, with every appearance of sincerity. “A thousand thanks,” he cried, gratefully. “I am glad to serve you,” she answered, gently; then, with a low, tremulous sigh, “are we friends again, Cecil?” “The best of friends,” he replied, cordially, and pressed the hand she extended with a gentle warmth, without noticing how the rich color flew to her olive cheek and the light to her large hazel eyes. In fact he had almost forgotten, in his trouble over Violet, that Amber had once loved him, and been angry because his choice had fallen on her fair cousin. He accepted frankly her profession of friendship. “Now I must beg you to set me down at my office door, and I will at once write Violet a letter, so that I can have it ready when you go back from your drive, if you will be so kind,” he said, and Amber assented very readily to his wish.