“He will be overjoyed,” agreed Violet, without noticing Amber’s angry frown at her tone of happy confidence in her lover. The joy of the anticipated meeting chased the sadness from her eyes, and brought a lovely rose-flush into her delicate cheeks. She dressed herself in a soft, white cashmere gown, with a little wrap to match, that had a quantity of fluffy white lace and blue ribbon about the neck and shoulders. A pretty hat in white and blue crowned the rippling waves of golden hair, and framed a picture of girlish beauty charming enough to enrapture the heart of a poet, a painter, or a lover. When the two girls were seated side by side in the phaeton, the one so dazzlingly fair, the other so dark and brilliant, they embodied the poet’s fancy of a sunny morn and a starry night, and it would have been hard for any one but a lover to decide which one could claim the palm of superior beauty. But there was not a doubt in Cecil’s mind, for, since the first moment he met Violet, he had named her in his heart fairest of the fair. Like Violet, he had been pining to meet his love, and Amber had promised him an interview if it could possibly be managed. But, knowing the vindictive old judge so well, he scarcely dared hope she would succeed. So it was with no thought of seeing Violet, but in the hope of a letter from her, he waited impatiently by the river that day. When he heard the light roll of wheels on the sandy road, he came out from the retreat where he was waiting, and his heart leaped with joy. There was Violet, his beautiful darling, his heart’s idol, by Amber’s side, her eyes beaming with joy, her little white hands outstretched, as she called, tenderly: “Cecil, dear Cecil!” Amber chirped to the gray pony, and it stopped obediently, while Cecil flew to Violet’s side, and pressed her darling hands in both his own. “You may kiss her if you choose, Cecil. I shall be looking the other way!” Amber said, lightly, and, blushing, Violet bent her head till her lips met Cecil’s in a gentle pressure, soft as dew, but thrilling as wine. “My own!” he whispered, with a thrill of intoxicating bliss. But if they could have seen the face that Amber had turned from them toward the blue and sunny sky, they would have been startled at its jealous pain. CHAPTER XVI. “I WILL LOVE YOU MORE THAN LIFE!” If Cecil could have seen that look of deadly hate in Amber’s eyes, and read the wicked thoughts in her mind, he would have snatched Violet in his strong arms, and fled away with her to some safe refuge from the cloud of woe lowering darkly over that lovely golden head. But Amber’s seeming kindness had lulled every suspicion in his mind to rest. He believed that she was the only friend he and Violet had in their love affair. But he might have prayed in a new version of the litany: “From all false friends and wicked schemers, good Lord, deliver us!”