Pale as she would ever be in her coffin, but with fiery, burning eyes, she sat and listened to the old judge’s story, hating him madly in her heart because at the last he had repented of his wickedness, because his soul stood aghast at the horrors to which he had doomed hapless Violet.
Very solemnly the old man continued:
“I have come to my senses, Amber, and I realize the enormity of my sin against my grandchild, although perhaps too late, for my heart forebodes that gentle Violet is dead. Alas! if Heaven had only spared her, all would come right now. She would be free, and I would no longer oppose her love for Cecil Grant!”
Amber’s voice rang sharply, despairingly, through the room:
“You would let them marry—Cecil and Violet?”
He answered, peevishly, reproachfully:
“Yes, Amber; it is the only atonement I could make them for all my cruelty. And he is a noble man, this Cecil Grant. I have wronged him by my enmity when I ought to have held out a helping hand to the manly young fellow. But I have thought of a plan,” eagerly. “I shall send for him and tell him all, and he shall search for Violet. Love is so keen and strong, you know, and——”
“My God!” shuddered Amber, the cry wrung from her by such agony as she fancied only the condemned in torment could know.
Then she forced her writhing lips to utter calmer words:
“Grandpapa, I am terribly unnerved by this story you have told me, but I am hopeful that Violet is not dead. And, yes, I think you are right to intrust the search for her to Cecil Grant. Love is keen and strong, as you say. You ought not to be kept in suspense over this matter; and if you will permit me, I will go myself for Cecil Grant.”