She did not wonder at Violet’s devotion when she saw the princely beauty of her tall, dark, stately lover, noble Cecil Grant. She remembered how madly she had loved once, when she believed the man she worshiped was noble and true.
She almost felt it wrong to be a witness of this touching scene of reunited love, and was softly closing the door to go away, when Violet caught the sound, and turned her head.
“Lena,” she called, quickly. “Dear Lena, do not leave us!”
Blushing deeply, she withdrew herself from Cecil’s arms, faltering miserably:
“Alas! I have no right to your love now, Cecil; but—but—I was so glad to hear your voice again, so thrilled by the sight of your face, that I forgot—everything!”
What a happy, reassuring laugh came from Cecil’s lips, as he cried:
“Come back to my heart, my own true love, for there is no barrier between us now. Harold Castello is dead!”
They heard a low, wild cry as Lena Lavarre quickly closed the door and darted away, but they did not know whether it was of joy or sorrow, they were so absorbed in each other.
Cecil threw himself upon a sofa, and, with his arms around Violet, told her briefly all that had happened. There was no time to dwell on it at length, for he had promised that he would take her home that night, to Judge Camden’s dying bed, if she would go.
When Violet heard of his sickness, and his bitter repentance, all her resentment melted away in a rush of tears. All his cruelty was forgotten, his kindness and love alone remembered.