She said, presently, with a long, quivering sigh:
“Dear Lena, you must not scold me very much when I tell you the truth. I have been very naughty, and disregarded your good advice. I have written to Cecil!”
Lena’s work dropped nervously from her hands, but ere she could speak, Violet, continued, tearfully:
“You cannot blame me, Lena, if you knew how wildly I love my precious Cecil, and how hard it is to know that he believed me fickle and false, while all the time I adored him! I have written and told him of all the treachery that drove me into that hated marriage, and somehow my heart feels lighter, for surely Cecil will know of some way to free me from the power of that wicked man. To-morrow, I shall expect to get a letter from my darling, and I know I shall not sleep an hour to-night, thinking about it!”
“Oh, my poor Violet”—began Lena, but she was interrupted by a sudden rat-tat upon the door knocker.
Visitors at that hour were so unusual that both girls uttered a startled:
“Oh!”
And the blue and brown eyes looked into each other in dismay.
“If it should be—Harold Castello!” cried Lena.
“If it should be—Cecil!” breathed Violet, rapturously and moved toward the door.