“Will she watch when a cloud passes over thy brow
And strive to chase it—as I have done?
Forgetting all but the thought that now
It is hers to console thee—beloved one?”
Mrs. Maxwell raised herself on her elbow and looked at the fallen girl with her lovely face and closed eyes upturned to the light. In her alarm she did not heed Viola’s presence.
“Oh, Rolfe, what have you done?” she groaned, wildly. “You have broken dear little Mae’s heart!”
“Mother!” in bewilderment.
“You have broken Mae’s heart!” she repeated, angrily. “She loved you dearly. She thought you loved her in return, and would marry her when your fortune mended, and I—as blind as she was—I encouraged her to think so. And now this terrible blow!”
It was a strange welcome for the young bride. She stared with dazed eyes at the prostrate girl, while her ears drank in every word of Rolfe’s mother.
As for him, he grew pale with indignation as he pressed Viola’s hand against his arm, replying: