Judge Camden thought she was fainting, and cried out, in alarm:
“Amber! Amber!”
The hazel eyes unclosed, and Amber feebly raised her head.
“Ah, my girl, it is dreadful, is it not?” cried the old man. “She ran away from Castello within an hour almost after they reached the house, and all search has proved utterly vain. For almost a week I have been searching for her, and I have put personals into the prominent newspapers, begging her to write to me or come home, but you see how fruitless all my efforts have proved. I fear that she is dead—that in her horror and despair at finding herself Castello’s bride, she has committed suicide!”
“I hope so,” thought Amber, vindictively; but, struggling for calmness, she said:
“Perhaps she fled to her father’s people, the Meads!”
“No; for I have been to them in Philadelphia. They knew nothing about her, and I asked her uncle to insert personals in the newspapers. He did so, but no answer came, and he shares my belief that poor Violet has surely been overtaken by some terrible fate.”
The belief certainly seemed plausible, but Amber dared not credit it. She trembled with horror at the threatening overthrow of all her hopes.
To lose her love Cecil now, when he was almost her very own—the thought was madness!
In a husky voice she cried: