Rolfe Maxwell gazed on her a few minutes with his passionate heart in his eyes, then pressed his lips softly on the rich waves of her perfumed dark hair ere he turned away to see that the little spare room was made comfortable for her to occupy.
In the meantime, his mother’s efforts had, after a time, restored his unhappy cousin to consciousness.
The girl lay still and dazed for some moments, then, as memory returned, she sobbed, miserably:
“Oh, Aunt Margaret, is it really true? Has Rolfe married that proud girl who looked like a queen?”
“It is true, dear, and I am very sorry; but we must make the best of it; only I wish he had not taken us by surprise!” sighed Mrs. Maxwell.
“I hate her! I wish I could part them, even now!” declared Mae, her sweet young face flushing with baleful anger.
“Dear Mae, you must not feel like that. Rolfe loves his beautiful young bride, and it is our duty to love her too,” the lady said, gently.
Mae sat up in bed, her azure eyes flashing with an anger her aunt had never suspected in her before. She sobbed, bitterly:
“I will not love her, the proud, beautiful creature who has stolen Rolfe’s heart from me so cruelly, and broken mine!”
“Dear Mae, we were mistaken in our hopes of Rolfe. He only loved you as a little sister, while we dreamed of something nearer and dearer. I am to blame for fostering such hopes in you. Will you forgive me, dear, and try to be happy without Rolfe?” pleaded Rolfe’s mother.