“I congratulate you, Violet. May you be very happy--you and your husband,” she heard Amber saying, gayly, but her new-made husband was dragging her away to the carriage, muttering: “There’s not a moment to be lost! Come, dearest, or Judge Camden will overtake us, and--there might be bloodshed, for he has sworn to shoot me.” She gave a little frightened cry as he lifted her into the carriage, and sank half swooning among the cushions. He followed, the door closed, and the carriage clattered away over the stony street through the deepening night. The minister, who had received a liberal fee, in spite of the bridegroom’s haste, lingered only long enough to put Amber into her phaeton, then said good-night and walked away briskly with his pretty little wife, leaving the successful schemer to return to her home and complete her clever work. She laughed mockingly, as she took up the reins and chirped to the pony, and the wandering breeze echoed her own voice back and made her shudder. It sounded like that of some mocking fiend. She drove swiftly out of the city streets, and soon gained the lonely country road full of rustic sights and sounds. Night had fallen, and the sky was gemmed with stars, the full moon rising over the hills throwing a flood of light on the scene. Amber had no fear of the night and the loneliness. She was full of elation and triumph, her pulses bounding with joy. “Out of my path forever!” she cried, aloud, happily, and the low winds sighing through the trees that skirted the road seemed to echo “Forever!” She had plotted a wicked and a cruel thing, and she had succeeded in carrying it out, but no remorse touched her as she thought of her nefarious work. “I have my revenge on her now, the little baby-faced beauty,” she whispered to her exulting heart. Suddenly she heard in the distance coming toward her, the sound of a horse’s feet, in a hard gallop over the road. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she involuntarily drew rein in terror, exclaiming: “It is he! just a moment too late!” Nearer, nearer sounded the thunderous hoofs as of one riding for his dear life. Amber’s guilty heart told her too surely who was coming, and the cold dew of terror beaded her brow. “I have the worst task to go through yet, but I will not flinch. A little courage, and it will be over!” she thought, resolutely. The approaching rider thundered into view, mounted on a splendid black horse, satanically beautiful and powerful. He was coming straight toward her, but the animal shied suddenly at sight of the phaeton waiting in the moonlighted road, and reared upward, almost throwing its rider. The gray pony Beauty whinnied with fear, and Amber held the reins tight while she called, eagerly: “Cecil! Cecil!” With some difficulty, the young man restrained his frightened steed and rode forward to the side of the phaeton.