“One word, Amber. This young man, this rich suitor for Violet’s hand, does he know that she is averse to his suit? Is he willing to accept an unwilling bride?” “Grandpapa says that he knows all, and is willing to take Violet on any terms, feeling confident that he can win her heart after marriage.” “He is a dastard!” cried Cecil, with kindling anger. “Granted,” replied Amber, with a peculiar smile, and then she added: “But he is madly in love with her, and, being backed by her grandfather, is naturally eager to win the prize. So our only defense against him is to steal Violet away.” “But how to do so under that old man’s watchful eyes?” he groaned. “It is a difficult undertaking, but I hope to accomplish it,” she smiled, confidently. “How clever you are, Amber!” he cried, gratefully. “Thank you!” she beamed, happily. “Now listen, Cecil.” “I am all attention!” “I have written to Wesley Christian, taken him into our confidence, and appointed seven o’clock to-morrow evening as the time, and his own little chapel as the place for the ceremony.” “Yes.” Amber continued: “Violet is to be very gracious to Monsieur Millionaire to-morrow, so that when I beg grandpapa to let her go for a drive with me, he will consent. Then we will drive straight to Washington in the phaeton. You will come by train and meet us at St. Paul’s, you understand. After the ceremony you and Violet will start on a little wedding tour, while I return home alone.” “But it will be late and cool for driving back alone through the woods,” he objected, thinking of her comfort. “I shall not be afraid--not in the least. I shall be thinking all the while of the good deed I have accomplished in uniting two persecuted lovers. And now, Cecil, here is the card of Rev. Mr. Christian, with his church address. You cannot fail to find it, and success is ours, unless grandpapa follows with a shot-gun,” ended Amber, with a light, rippling laugh. CHAPTER XVIII. “NOT LOVE, BUT FEAR!” “Oh, grandpapa, spare me, I entreat you! I cannot, will not meet that man!” cried Violet, in a mixture of despair and entreaty. He was urging her presence in the drawing-room, to meet Harold Castello, but with streaming eyes she implored his clemency. “Do not force me into this man’s detested presence, I pray you! Oh, grandpapa, what has your poor little Violet done to you to be treated in this cruel fashion?” “Treated cruelly! Well, of all the charges, you silly child, that I ever heard, this is the most unfounded! Is it cruel to offer you a rich and handsome young man for a husband?” “Yes, when all my heart is given to another!” cried the girl, vehemently. A stifled oath escaped the judge’s lips. “You shall never marry that poverty-stricken young Grant, you may be sure of that, my girl; and the sooner you realize it, the better!” Violet trembled, but she did not reply, fearing the violence of his wrath.