The Earles were not staying at a hotel. They were at the residence of a distant relative in a fashionable quarter of the city. Violet had inclosed her address, and the _prima donna_ drove there immediately, full of grief and horror over Walter's dreadful fate. Violet met her in the elegant drawing-room. The beautiful blonde looking pale, wan and distracted in the dim morning light. Her blue morning robe was all in disorder, her golden hair was disarranged, there were dark circles beneath her eyes, and the soft, blue orbs were drowned in tears. "Oh, Lina, Lina! I told you so!" she cried, breaking into wild, hysterical weeping. "You have made us all wretched! You have caused poor Walter's death! Oh my brother, my brother!" Jaquelina stood irresolute in the center of the room, her lips quivering at Violet's passionate charge. "Oh, Violet, don't!" she cried, lifting her white hands as if to ward off a blow. "I have done nothing! I love you all. I would give my life to make you and Ronald and Walter happy. Tell me of Walter. He is not dead--he will not die! Oh, Violet, do not tell me so! I could not bear it!" "There has been a duel," Violet cried. "They met outside of the city this morning, and fought. That dreadful man--your husband--shot Walter, and got away himself. We did not know one thing, Lina, till they brought our poor boy home." "Dead?" Jaquelina asked, with pitiful anguish in face and voice. "Not dead--but--dying--we fear," wept Violet, wildly. The beautiful singer knelt by the side of the agitated girl, who had thrown herself down on a silken couch, sobbing and weeping in utter hysterical abandonment. She put her arms around her, and drew the golden head to a resting-place upon her breast. "Oh, Violet," she murmured, smoothing back the disheveled tresses with gentle fingers, "do not give way so utterly. Try to be calm. It may not be so bad as you think. I cannot believe that Walter will die. He is young and strong. Let us pray that God will spare his life." There was some moments of utter silence. Violet's grief had spent itself for awhile. She lay passive on Jaquelina's tender breast, her golden eyelids resting on her pallid cheeks. The delicate lips of the _prima donna_ moved silently for a little while, as if in prayer--perhaps for the wounded man who lay up stairs breathing painfully and shortly. Then she spoke: "Violet, you will tell me how it all came about? Why did they fight?" "It was for your sake, Lina," Violet replied, moving uneasily from the clasp of her arm and opening her eyes a moment. "For my sake?" Lina cried, with white lips. "Oh, Violet, I do not understand." "Read this," and Violet put a note into her hand. "Walter left it on his dressing-table this morning for me. I found it a little while ago." Walter had written as follows: