His heart throbbed with passionate joy as he held Violet, poor unconscious Violet, so close to his heart, stealing caresses that would never be permitted him when she should learn his identity with the rejected suitor she both hated and feared. Violet began to wonder at her own heavy heart. She had expected to feel so blithe and happy when she was Cecil’s bride! Suddenly she sobbed, heart-brokenly: “Oh, Cecil, speak to me! Tell me why I am so wretchedly unhappy in this hour that promised so much bliss!” “My darling!” he murmured, indistinctly, as he pressed his burning lips to the pure white brow against his shoulder. “Oh, Cecil, I am so frightened! Will grandpapa overtake us, do you think? Will he--do anything--dreadful?” continued the deceived girl, apprehensively. “No, no, my own darling, he will not overtake us now! Rest easy, for your adoring husband will defend you against the whole world!” reassured Harold Castello, in a muffled voice, hoping that she would not detect the strange sound. But Violet half lifted her head from his shoulder, exclaiming: “How strangely your voice sounds, dear Cecil!” “I am very hoarse from a severe cold, and my voice seems strange in my own ears,” he answered, suddenly gathering her closely in his arms, and pressing burning kisses on her quivering lips, her fair brow, dimpled cheeks, and even her warm, white throat. Violet did not return her husband’s kisses. She only endured them at first in a passive way, then suddenly gave a little startled cry, and tried to writhe herself out of his arms. “What is it, my own love?” he murmured, tenderly, but without releasing her. “Oh, Cecil, you seem so strange! You do not kiss me as--as--you--used to do!” faltered the trembling bride. Harold Castello gave a low laugh and answered, lightly: “I was your lover then, my Violet, and dared not take all the kisses I wanted. Now I am your husband, sweet, and you are mine, all mine! and I can feast myself at will on your sweet, red lips! And the more I kiss you, my darling, the more intoxicated I grow, for your breath is like wine--it thrills me with bliss, it makes me dizzy!” With every word she recoiled farther from him, lifting up her face, and trying to see him in the darkness of the carriage, while she almost moaned: “I--I--you frighten me! You do not--do not--seem like my love, Cecil! I wish I could see your face. Your voice is so strange! It sounds like--oh, God--like the voice of the man I hate! Release me, release me! I die with fear! Oh, pitying Heaven, you are not Cecil! I have been duped!” The words died on her trembling lips, her form collapsed in a deadly swoon. The darkness had not saved him as he had hoped until they should reach their destination. His strange voice and the instincts of her own loving heart had informed her of the truth. But fortunately for his purpose, the realization of her awful mistake had brought with it an unconsciousness most favorable to him.