Walter Earle's handsome face grew pale with surprise and emotion at the words of the beautiful girl he loved so dearly. When at last he could speak he cried out hoarsely:

"Engaged to Valchester! Is it possible? I never dreamed of such a thing."

"Why not, Mr. Earle? If you loved me why should not he have loved me also?" asked Jaquelina, with gentle dignity, though her cheeks flushed deeply.

Walter Earle stared at her a moment in silence. He began to realize the effect of her bright and charming beauty as he had never done before. All along it had seemed to him that other men were blind. He had thought to put forth his hand and pluck a rose that none other had sighed for; but another had been there before him.

"I thought Valchester was too selfishly absorbed in his books and poetry to think of love," he responded; then he added with a bitterness he could not repress: "You will allow me to congratulate you, Miss Meredith, on having secured such a desirable parti."

"Thank you. I consider myself a very fortunate girl," Jaquelina answered, with a movement of graceful pride.

"No doubt!" said Walter, so excited and pained by her refusal of his suit that he was not prepared to do her justice even in his thoughts. "Others will consider you a very fortunate person also. It is well known that Valchester's parents are exceedingly wealthy."

Jaquelina's pretty, proud face grew pale at his words.

"I—did not know that," she said.

"Did you not, really?" asked Walter.

"No, I did not," she replied; then with a crimson blush: "Did you think, Mr. Earle, that I accepted Mr. Valchester for mercenary considerations?"

The pain and shame in the winning face overcame Walter's unreasonable and unjust mood.

"Forgive me," he said, "I was tempted a moment to think so; but of course I know better after what you have just told me. The smart of my own pain made me unjust. Do not be angry with me, Lina, if I may call you so this once. I shall hope still to be your friend since I cannot claim a dearer title."

Jaquelina held out her hand to him impulsively. Walter kissed it tenderly and regretfully.

"Valchester is a noble fellow," he said, bravely. "I hope you may be very happy together."

When he was gone, Jaquelina wept a shower of bright tears upon the pages of her book. She was very sorry for poor Walter's disappointment. She cried so bitterly that little Dollie was affected to participation in her grief, and wept in unison, whereat Jaquelina dried her tears and laughed.

"There now, Dollie, we are done crying," she said. "We are very sorry for Walter. He is gay and good and handsome, but Ronald is my prince."

Her spirits were very light and gay now. It was only the day before that Ronald Valchester had wooed her to be his wife. He had told her how beautiful and gifted she was, and how fondly he loved her. And then Jaquelina had suddenly wakened to the truth that she had long ago given her heart into his keeping.

"Lina, can you give your heart to me?" he had pleaded, and she had answered frankly, yet shyly, with her sweet face turned away:

"I believe it has been yours a long—long time, Mr. Valchester, only I did not quite know it until now."

Mr. Valchester was very demonstrative for awhile, considering that he was usually so quiet and grave. Before he left he had made his betrothed promise that, with her uncle's consent, the wedding should be in three months.

"Because, darling, I am anxious to take you away from your uncongenial home and transplant my rosebud to a sunnier sphere of life," he said, kissing the dewy crimson lips ardently yet tenderly.

The dark eyes looked at him shyly from under the white lids and the jetty fringe of her long curling lashes.

"So I shall not have to seek a situation after all," she said, happily.

"No, indeed," he answered with a shudder, "I could not bear to think of you, my tender flower, out in the cold world alone. The bleak frosts of adversity and sorrow would destroy you."

He was mistaken. The time was coming when he was to learn what a brave heart and strong patience lay hidden beneath the fragile seeming of the lovely girl who held his heart.

The summer breeze sighing softly over the grass and flowers, and lifting the dark, careless locks from his broad, white brow had no subtle voice to warn him of the long, dark shadow that was ever widening between him and the prize that seemed almost within his grasp.

Walter Earle did not go home immediately after his rejection by Jaquelina.

He had loved her with as much ardor as he was capable of, and he felt the pain of his disappointment deeply.

He wandered homeward slowly through the green woods, and threw himself down by a purling brook to rest.

It was twilight when he reached home. He looked in the parlor for Violet, but she was not there.

His father and Ronald Valchester were discussing some political news, his mother was placidly crocheting lace on the sofa.

He went on quietly up-stairs to Violet's own especial room, and tapped lightly on the door.

"Come in," she said, and he turned the door-knob and entered.

Violet was at the mirror, looping back her fair curls with roses and white jessamine.

She looked very fair and sweet in her white evening dress and pearl and turquoise jewelry—a fact of which she was not unaware herself, for a smile of gratified vanity curved her rosy lips as she surveyed her own reflection in the full length mirror.

"Ah, Miss Vanity," cried Walter, trying hard to be his natural, careless self. "How do you like yourself?"

Violet turned around and swept him a gay little courtesy.

"Very well, indeed, sir," she laughed. "How do you like me, Walter?"

Walter looked at the tall, stylish figure, and the fair, smiling face with its large blue eyes and rosy lips, with genuine admiration.

"I do not believe any other fellow has as pretty a sister as I have," he replied, and Violet gave him a charming kiss in return for his praise.

"Where have you been, Walter?" she said. "We have missed you all the evening. Mr. Valchester was quite puzzled, but I could very nearly guess—only I did not let him know it."

Walter had thrown himself down in a chair at the window.

The rich lace curtains were drawn aside, admitting the evening breeze, sweet with the breath of flowers. He stared moodily out at the full moon rising over the dark line of the distant hills.

"Where have you been, Walter?" said Violet again, seeing that he made her no answer. "Were you with Jaquelina?"

"Yes," he replied, with cold brevity.

Violet went over and sat down by his side. She raised her fair, smiling face to his in wonder.

She saw the brooding shadow of pain on the blonde, handsome face.

"Walter, what is it? Has—has anything happened?" she said, vaguely.

"Nothing has happened," he replied, in a moody tone.

"Was Jaquelina well?" she asked, puzzled.

"Never better," he replied, with transient bitterness.

Violet did not know what to think.

"Walter, was not Lina kind to you?" she asked, gently.

"No," he replied, briefly and bitterly.

The soft flush had faded from Violet's cheeks. A look of dread came into her eyes, but Walter did not see it.

He had never turned his sad gaze from the distant hills gilded with glory by the rising moon.

"Walter, do you mean," she said, with lips that quivered strangely, "that—you have asked Lina to marry you?"

"Yes," he answered, very low.

"And she—oh, she did not refuse you!" cried Violet, indignantly.

"Yes, again," said Walter, still without looking at her.

There was a moment's pause, and then Violet cried out:

"The impertinent little jade! Why, what did she mean? I should have thought that she would have jumped at the chance of marrying a rich, handsome young man like you, Walter!"

Then Walter looked round at her.

"Violet, do not use such hasty words," he said, sadly. "She has a right to make her own choice. She has set her mark higher even than your unworthy brother."

"You do not mean," said Violet slowly, then paused, while every vestige of color fled from her lips and cheeks as she stared at Walter.

"She is engaged to Valchester," he answered, abruptly.

The words came with the suddenness of a blow.

Violet shivered and moaned like something wounded to death; then all in a moment she slid from her seat to the floor, and lay there, a white and senseless heap, upon the rich velvet carpet.

Walter sprang from his seat in alarm and consternation. He had never before suspected the secret of Violet's hidden love for Ronald Valchester. It all rushed over him now overwhelmingly. With almost womanly tenderness he lifted his stricken sister gently to a sofa, and bringing eau de cologne from the toilet-table laved her cold face and hands with the refreshing water.

She opened her eyes and stared blankly at him in a moment.

"Darling, are you any better?" he asked, gently.

Then Violet threw her white arms round his neck and clung to him, weeping wildly.

"Walter, is it indeed true?" she sobbed. "Is she to marry Ronald?"

"So she says," he answered. "Do you care, Violet?"

"I hate her!" Violet cried, drawing herself from his arms and sitting upright, while rage and jealousy flashed from her eyes—"I hate her! She has stolen my lover from me!"

Walter's blue eyes flashed lightning.

"Violet, is that true?" he asked. "I thought my friend was the soul of honor; but if he has dared to trifle with your affections he shall render me an account for his perfidy!"

Violet only wept and sobbed, without replying.

"Tell me, dear," persisted Walter, "has Valchester made love to you, really, while he was slyly wooing Miss Meredith?"

Violet was obliged to admit that he had not.

"But if he had never seen her—if she had let him alone—I must have won him by the strength of my own love. He could not help loving me in time. Therefore, Lina has really stolen him from me," she persisted, most unreasonably.

Walter could not see that it was as Violet said. He tried to argue the case with her; but he soon found that Violet was too jealous and miserable to listen to reason. She only reiterated again and again her hatred of Jaquelina Meredith.

Walter took a great deal of blame to himself. He acknowledged that he had done wrong ever to have brought Ronald Valchester to Laurel Hill.

"You see, Vi," he said, miserably, "I never looked upon Valchester as one to be lightly won, or one to lightly win a woman's heart. He is not usually gallant, or even attentive, to ladies. I thought him only a book-worm, wrapped up in metaphysics and poetry. He is a splendid fellow. I have told you that too often, Vi, for me to deny it now when he has become my successful rival and the source of sorrow to yourself: but I thought he was simply one of the men whom his own sex always admire, but women seldom or never."

"I do not believe that Jaquelina admires him," cried Violet. "She is attracted by his wealth and position."

Nothing that Walter could say could change her opinion. She adhered to it tenaciously. Walter was deeply sorry for her. Her jealous anger and her wild grief distressed him exceedingly.

"Violet, think no more of it," he would say. "Valchester is going away to-morrow. I will never invite him to Laurel Hill again, and when he is out of sight you will forget him."

"I shall never forget him," his sister replied. "I shall never forget him, and I shall never love anyone but Ronald Valchester my life-long! Oh, Walter, cannot you think of something to separate them and turn his heart to me!" she added, with piteous pleading.

Walter was shocked.

"Darling, you are talking wildly," he cried; "you would not wish such a thing. Let me call mother. She can soothe you better than I can."

She sprang up in the wildest alarm.

"Walter, promise me here and now," she cried, "that you will never reveal my wretched secret to mamma, nor to any living one. I will never unlock my arms from your neck until you swear to me that you will never, never betray me."

Her arms were wreathed tightly round his neck; her anguished, white face and wild blue eyes looked into his own imploringly.

Walter could not refuse to give her the promise she pleaded for, but he regretted it many and many a day afterward.

He promised her, and she kissed him and thanked him.

"Now, Violet, we must really go down to the parlor," he said, anxious to distract her attention. "Our absence will be noticed and wondered at. Smooth your hair and dress and come with me. This is the last night of Valchester's stay, and we must not seem discourteous."

"You may go," she said, "but I cannot to-night. Tell them I have a headache and do not wish to be disturbed. Do not suffer mamma to come. I feel very angry with her. It was she who insisted on patronizing that wretched girl. But for that Ronald never would have seen her!"

Her brother went down reluctantly. Violet lay motionless on her couch for long hours. When she roused herself at last and went to close the window the lamp had burned low, and the mysterious stillness of midnight brooded over everything. Violet lifted her hand and turned a white, desperate face up to the starry sky.

"Before God," she cried, in low, passionate accents, "I swear that I will be revenged on Jaquelina Meredith for winning Ronald Valchester away from me. She shall never be his wife, and if mortal power can accomplish it, I will make of her life one long agony, such as she has made of mine."

So, under the starry arch of Heaven, Violet's vow of vengeance was registered beside that of Gerald Huntington. Poor Jaquelina, sleeping softly on her little white couch and dreaming of her handsome, gifted lover, did no swift, subtle warning tell her of the false friend and the outraged prisoner whose hands were outstretched to dash the cup of happiness from her beautiful lips?