“It is Violet’s handwriting!” almost shrieked Mrs. Shirley, and he answered:
“Amber took it from the post-office this morning, and I found it in her jacket when she was carried, unconscious, into the Melrose cottage. I have not read it yet, but I will do so now, and we will soon know where to find our sweet Violet!”
His happy eyes ran eagerly over the closely written pages, and very soon their hearts were gladdened by the news that Violet was with friends, no farther away than Washington. Cecil declared he would go on the first train and bring her home to Golden Willows.
CHAPTER L.
IN THE ARMS OF LOVE.
Sweet Violet was very nervous and restless during the twenty-four hours that ensued upon the mailing of her letter to Cecil.
She had poured out to her lost lover all the story of Amber’s treachery, and prayed him to forgive her for the sorrow she had unwittingly brought on his devoted heart, in that she was an equal sufferer with himself in the agony of sorrow and separation.
She thought of him constantly now, wondering how he would receive her letter, if he would write to her, if he would come to her—above all, if he would see any way to free her from the detested fetters in which Harold Castello had bound her life.
She felt a little guilty, too, in having written to Cecil against the wishes of her friends, and determined at last to confess the truth to Lena.
On the evening when the tragic events were happening at her old home, Violet sat with Lena in the pretty little parlor of the Lavarre home. It was still early, not yet nine o’clock, but the widow, pleading a headache, had retired to her room, and the two girls were quite alone.
Lena was sitting near a table, crocheting a white wool shawl, and Violet, in an easy-chair, amused herself with the antics of a little Maltese kitten in her lap; but the gleam of the gas-light on her lovely face showed the smile on her lips belied by the haunting sadness of her great blue eyes.