“Your grandfather thinks differently, my dear, and of course that settles the matter.” It certainly settled it as far as Mrs. Shirley was concerned, for she was the meek slave of the irascible old man, and lived in a chronic state of fear lest she should offend him and be sent away from Golden Willows in disgrace. When he took her to bring up his two orphan granddaughters, he had rescued her from a life of grinding poverty and toil, the needle her only defense against hunger and privation. As she was not aggressive nor high-spirited, she preferred to endure all the caprices and ill-humor of her benefactor rather than lose her luxurious home. She did not dare oppose the tyrant in the slightest thing. His will was her law. So Violet could not expect any help from Cousin Shirley, as they called her, her relationship being vague and distant, and her interests being centered in the preservation of her own selfish comfort in accordance with the first law of nature. Yet Mrs. Shirley was not cruel or unkind. She was only the slave of circumstance, as we all are in a great degree. There is no help or hope for poor Violet in that household, where her tyrannical old grandfather held the balance of power. And she knew that quiet preparations for her marriage were going steadily forward, and that Harold Castello was expected to arrive in three days more. She began to grow doubtful and frightened, to wonder if they really had the power to force her into a marriage against her will, to dwell feverishly on the thought of escape. But where could she go that her grandfather, her legal guardian, could not force her to return to his protection? The protection of the wolf for the lamb, she thought, despairingly. The only gleam of brightness in her life was when Amber brought the daily letter from Cecil, the fond, loving letters, counseling courage and patience, and assuring her that, no matter how much the judge might bluster, he could not marry her to Harold Castello without her consent. Cecil did not really know how wicked and cruel the old man could be. Violet had kept from him, in very shame, the knowledge of the cruel blow that had caused her almost fatal illness. She could not bring herself to confide the humiliating story to her noble lover, but she knew well that he did not fully realize the perils by which she was surrounded. “Only to see him, if but for one short hour!” was the yearning cry of her anguished heart. It seemed as if one look into his beautiful, brave, dark eyes, one clasp of his strong white hand, would endow her with new life and hope. “Only to see you, my darling, Only to hear your voice; Even its faintest whisper, Would make my heart rejoice!” In her despair, she turned to Amber, crying: “Oh, Amber, you are so good, so clever, do think of some plan to let me see my darling Cecil, if only for one short hour!” Amber smiled, gayly, as she answered: