“No, no, my poor girl, I pity you!” cried Violet, and held out her hand.
Lena Lavarre took it in both her own and kissed it gratefully; then continued:
“You know that I eloped with Harold Castello and was deceived by a mock marriage in Chicago and then deserted. You know that my father pursued the villain and was murdered by him. You witnessed the deed, lady, for I heard you declare as much to Harold Castello. You taunted him with the ruin of an innocent girl and the murder of her father.”
“It is true. I was a witness to that old man’s death at Harold Castello’s hands,” shuddered Violet, turning deadly pale, and almost swooning again at the recollection.
“Oh, lady, why did you not denounce the murderer, for your evidence would have convicted him? Why did you let the case baffle all Chicago and remain a mystery to this day, when you should have brought that fiend to justice?” almost wept Lena Lavarre.
Violet flushed crimson, then grew deadly pale again.
“I did wrong in keeping silence, Miss Lavarre, but I will tell you how it was. My own safety, my own honor, made me keep the awful secret.”
“Your honor, lady?”
“Yes; but you must not believe evil of me,” answered Violet, crimsoning painfully again. She added: “I happened to be in Harold Castello’s company by an accident that I will fully explain at another time. But my situation was a terribly compromising one, and when I became unwittingly a witness of the murder, Harold Castello threatened to blacken my name irretrievably if I dared to betray him. I was young and innocent, and terribly afraid of the world’s verdict, so I kept his secret, and let that old man’s blood cry out in vain against his destroyer for the sake of my own good name.”
“But you are sorry you did not risk it all, lady, now that you see what a terrible fate it brought on you. And it is not yet too late. I will help you to escape, and you shall denounce him to the law for the black-hearted murderer that he is!”