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!”
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LETTER THAT CAME TOO LATE.
“Where is the heart that hath not bowed,
A slave, eternal Love, to thee?