He cried out in alarm:
“Violet is not ill—not dead! Speak quickly, Amber!”
The girl answered with consummate, tragic force:
“She were better dead than false!”
“Oh, Heaven!” he gasped, hollowly.
“False!” repeated Amber, most bitterly, and went on:
“Oh, Cecil, I tried to prevent it; I told her you would come; I begged them to wait, but——”
“Go on!” he implored, and she continued, sadly:
“Oh, Cecil, call all your strength and pride to your aid, for it is cruel news I have for you. Violet was bitterly resentful at your delay. She wept wildly, hysterically, and raved out that she was a forsaken bride, jilted at the very altar.”
“My poor Violet, my sensitive little love,” he groaned; but Amber went on: