CHAPTER XXIII.
PLAYING HER PART.
“Alas! if love do not reveal
His warmth to stamp the marriage seal,
Then grief and bitter woe betide
The wedded lord and hapless bride!”
Mrs. Maxwell and Rolfe soon had the tiny spare room bright and cozy for Viola, and while the young girl still slept on wearily in the parlor, he made a bungling explanation of his marriage.
“I did not mean to shock you, mother, but this was a rather sudden move on my part. The truth is, that I carried Viola off from another man that she expected to wed tomorrow, and her father will be very angry, of course; but the sensation will soon blow over. Very unfortunately, I am obliged to go to New York on business tonight, and must leave my bride in your care.”
She thought it would look very strange leaving his young bride on his wedding-night, and she said so frankly.
The hot color surged up to the roots of the clustering black curls on his brow, then receded, leaving him deathly pale again, as he answered, quickly:
“Viola will understand the necessity. Besides, I will leave a little note that will explain. I will soon be back—probably tomorrow evening.”
He took her hand, and said, earnestly:
“Dear mother, you have always been good to your boy, but I see that I have strained your love tonight. Will you try to forgive me for disappointing your wishes about Mae, and be kind to my precious Viola?”
“Of course I will, Rolfe,” she answered.
But he persevered:
“She will need more than kindness—she will need real motherly tenderness and sympathy, for she is nervous and troubled over the shock she has given her father, and is likely to be very unhappy for some time. You will know how to comfort her, will you not, dear mother?”
His voice was so eager and anxious that she answered yes, promising her heart to do her duty by Rolfe’s wife, in spite of her secret resentment for poor Mae’s sake.
When he had left the house she returned to the parlor, and found Viola still sleeping so soundly that she had not the heart to rouse her yet. She drew up a chair and waited awhile, gazing admiringly at the beautiful creature.
Presently Viola stirred restlessly, sighed, and opened her large dreamy eyes upon the unfamiliar scene, and the strange face of her mother-in-law.
“Oh!” she uttered, in a dazed voice, sitting quickly erect.
“Do not be alarmed, my dear, you have fallen asleep in your chair and been dreaming. You are here in Rolfe’s home safe with his mother,” said the lady, gently.
A gleam of comprehension flashed into Viola’s eyes, and she sighed heavily:
“I remember—everything.”
“I have a bit of sad news for you, my dear.”
“Yes?” inquiringly.
The answer was a sealed letter.
Viola took it in surprise, and opened it, reading with dilated eyes:
“My Precious Wife,—I mentioned to you tonight that I had an offer to go to Cuba as a war correspondent for a newspaper, and I find it almost necessary to go to New York tonight to make the requisite arrangements for immediate departure.
“This happens very fortunately for you under the circumstances.
“You will not be compelled to assume as yet the duties of a wifehood that would be repugnant to you now, though I hope at some future day to teach your heart the sweet lesson of love. Am I presumptuous?
“We must keep up the farce of love—no farce on my part—to blind the world, and make it believe in the honesty of the coup d’état by which you came out of the affair with Desha with flying colors. Do not lay aside for a moment the pretense that the force of love alone caused your elopement.
“Above all, spare my gentle mother any knowledge of the real truth. It will not take much acting to please her gentle heart with the fancy that I am dear to you. May the fancy some day become reality.
“I have dared kiss you good-bye as you slept. I hope you will rest easy till my return tomorrow evening. I will give orders for the morning papers to be sent you.
“Devotedly,
Rolfe.”
Viola read the short letter slowly and lingeringly, and then thrust it into her bosom.
The woman who watched her saw her lips quiver, and said, tenderly:
“I told Rolfe it was hard for him to go tonight, but he seemed to think you would not blame him, dear.”
“No, no; I understand,” the girl answered, quietly; then suddenly hid her pale face in her hands, while a burning crimson flushed up to her brow at the deceit she must practice on the kind soul who thought she was grieving because of Rolfe’s absence, while instead she was unutterably grateful to him for his chivalrous consideration.
Until this moment Viola had been so absorbed in her revenge that she had scarcely given a thought to the man she had married.
Yet he, gently and unobtrusively, had considered everything, planned everything, that her treasured vengeance need not go awry, while at the same time she need not pay too dear a price for the victory. Loving her with all the strong passion of manhood, he would not force his love on her sore heart. He would be patient and bide his time, though not concealing the tenderness of his hope.
Mrs. Maxwell, full of the thought of comforting her, exclaimed:
“Ah, my dear, how soundly you slept! It is wonderful that Rolfe did not wake you while he knelt by you, kissing your face, your hands, and your hair in good-bye. He said: ‘Mother, is she not beautiful—the most beautiful girl in the world? I can not tell you how fondly I love her. Ever since the first day I saw her she has been growing into my heart, taking such deep root there that I shall love her forever!’” She stopped, for Viola’s stony calm had suddenly broken up in a storm of sobs.
Mrs. Maxwell thought, tenderly:
“Poor dear, how she loves him, and what a grief it is that he had to leave her tonight! Well, well, I must coax her to bed, so that I can go back and reason with dear Mae, for I encouraged her in her love for my son, and now I must help her to throw off its chains!”