“I have brought you a treasure—a letter from Cecil,” she exclaimed, gayly.
How the blue eyes sparkled, how the cheeks flushed with joy as Violet caught the letter and pressed it to her warm lips, murmuring:
“My darling!”
She tore it open and read it eagerly through twice, then looked up at Amber, her eyes shining through happy tears.
“Oh, how can I thank you, dear Amber?” she cried, gratefully.
“By believing that I am your true friend,” replied the crafty girl.
“Oh, I know now; I am sure of it, or you would not have brought me this letter, that has made me so happy!” and again Violet kissed her love-letter with blushing cheeks.
Ah, how bitterly, how jealously Amber envied her that exquisite happiness, she did not dream, or she would have started in affright at the evil in her cousin’s heart.
She thought that Amber had overcome her love for Cecil, and was content to be only his friend, and to forward his love affair with another with generous self-forgetfulness.
But sweet Violet had never felt the pain of a slighted love, or she might have known that only the noblest hearts can forget or forgive a wrong either real or fancied.