“You are very good, my dear girl,” she said, falteringly and made room for Amber on her sofa, though she realized in a moment how shabby her worn black cashmere looked by the side of the visitor’s rich striped silk. Aunt Dinah withdrew, with a low chuckle of satisfaction, and Amber sat gazing with curious eyes at the mistress of Bonnycastle and thinking how much older she had grown since only yesterday, when this crushing sorrow had fallen upon her. The wavy dark hair was thickly streaked with gray, the pretty face was pale, the dark eyes dim and shadowed from constant weeping. “Oh, Mrs. Grant, how ill you look!” pursued Amber, tenderly. “It is a burning shame that grandpapa should have distressed you so, and I will never forgive him--never! I told him so only this morning, but I could not move his hard heart. But we will outwit him, dear Mrs. Grant, for I have a plan if you will only permit me to help you.” “You, my dear Miss Laurens!” exclaimed her hostess, doubtfully, but with a little thrill of hope. It would break her heart, she knew, to leave the dear old home, and she caught eagerly at every little gleam of hope. “Please call me Amber--Miss Laurens sounds so distant. And Cecil always calls me Amber. We are great friends, you know,” cried the girl, eagerly. “Indeed?” returned the lady, with slight surprise. She thought but did not say that it was Violet surely in whom Cecil was so much interested. “Oh, Mrs. Grant, you have not heard the news about Violet, I suppose? She eloped last night with a gentleman who has been visiting at Golden Willows--a Mr. Castello, of Chicago. Oh, how surprised you look! You thought she was Cecil’s sweetheart, did you not? So did we all, but our Violet was always a sad flirt, and always preferred her latest lover. Mr. Castello was very rich, too, and that carried the day with Violet. So off they went to Washington last night and were married. Did not Cecil tell you?” “No, he did not mention it. I suppose he thought it unimportant compared with our trouble!” Mrs. Grant answered, proudly, treating the whole matter lightly, though her heart ached in secret for her poor boy, thus made the victim of a heartless jilt. Amber did not wish to wound her sensitive pride too deeply, so she made no further reference to the elopement, and began, wheedlingly: “Dear Mrs. Grant, my heart is almost broken over this affair. I cannot bear to have you and Cecil give up your old home and go away among strangers. It would be very cruel for you both.” “It will break my heart to go!” cried Mrs. Grant, choking back a sob that rose at Amber’s sweet sympathy. “It must not be! You shall remain at Bonnycastle!” cried the young girl, with a resolute air.