Viola struggled back to consciousness again, and her first words were to ask for the letter that had affected her so terribly.
“Your father took it, dear child,” was the gentle reply.
“He must not read it, not one word of it! Go and tell him to send it to me, Eliza!” the poor girl cried, frantically.
The maid went away obediently, but failed to return, the judge himself coming instead, looking at his daughter in wonder, she was so pale, so changed from the radiant girl of yesterday.
He sat down by the side of the bed, and she cried, eagerly:
“My letter, papa, my letter!”
He answered, sternly:
“I have read every word of it, Viola.”
The color flushed her pale cheeks like a rose.
“How dared you? You had no right!”