"Yes."
"Then you oblige me to communicate a fact which, for several reasons, I should have preferred to withhold from you," said Mrs. Mencke, bending a strange look upon her.
"What do you mean?" Violet inquired, startled by her manner.
"Death has released you from your promise to that fellow. Read that," was the stunning reply, as the woman drew a paper from her pocket, and, laying it before Violet, pointed to a marked paragraph.
"Belle!" came in a low, shuddering voice from the blanched lips of the beautiful girl before her, as she seemed instinctively to know what was printed here.
"Read," commanded Mrs. Mencke, relentlessly.
With hands that shook like leaves in the wind, Violet picked up the paper. It was the Cincinnati Times-Star, and she read with a look of horror on her young face:
Died, on the 28th instant, Wallace Richardson, aged 23 years and 6 months.
The next moment a piercing shriek rang through the room, and Violet lay stretched senseless at her sister's feet.
"Heavens! I did not think she would take it to heart like this," cried the now thoroughly frightened woman, as she threw herself upon her knees beside the motionless girl and began to loosen her clothing and chafe her hands.