“Nice prospect for me!” he cried, ruefully. “Now, sweetheart, let me lay down the law. I shall seek an interview with your mother in the morning—my poor darling, we are both alike fatherless—if she is able to receive me. I am so grieved that her health is not good; but I will try not to excite her; and if she will consent to give her treasure into my keeping, I propose that our marriage take place—let me see! this is April—May is an unlucky month for weddings. What do you say to the first of June, sweetheart?”

“June!”—with a frightened start—“oh, Leonard, impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible, my darling,” he returned, coolly. “And now, Violet, the music has struck up the ‘Manola.’ Come, let us waltz together once more. It will be your first dance in the capacity of my betrothed wife!”

She laid her small gloved hand upon his black coat-sleeve, and they returned to the ball-room, where they were soon floating away to the sweet waltz-music.

And over their young, defenseless heads a cloud was[Pg 13] gathering, creeping nearer and nearer. Soon it would envelop them in its inky folds.

[Pg 13]

Upstairs in her pretty sitting-room Rosamond Arleigh was pacing slowly up and down, her head bent, her hands clasped tightly together, her face set and pale as death.

“There is no way of escape,” she muttered, hoarsely, coming to a halt at length in her monotonous pacing to and fro. “I am like the doomed wretch in the Italian prison, who felt its walls closing in around him a little nearer, a little nearer every day. I shall soon be crushed within the walls of destiny and a relentless hatred—a hatred which has existed for years—a hatred which calls itself love, and which will never be satisfied until it has wrought my ruin, body and soul! And there is no escape, no way out—save death!”

Her eyes wandered restlessly over to a small cabinet which occupied a corner of the room. There were a half-dozen vials standing upon the upper shelf. One of them bore a grinning skull and crossbones, and was labeled “Chloral—Poison.”

“I wonder,” she went on, thoughtfully, “how he intends to begin—how and when he will strike—to deal the fatal blow which will devastate my life and doom my child—my beautiful girl—to endless misery and shame. He says he will be here to-morrow at midnight—to-morrow![Pg 14] Ha-a!” turning the crumpled telegram over in her shaking hand. 

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