But Viola was a woman now, hurried out of girlishness by a great trouble. She had gained a wonderful dignity that almost awed him, while her keen reproaches cut him to the heart.
In his anxiety to make her think as well as she could of him under the cruel circumstances, he put aside pride and reserve, and answered, humbly:
“Dear child, I was in the wrong, but I did it for your sake. I believed you had married Maxwell out of pique, while still loving Philip Desha, and when you fainted dead away on receiving his letter of repentance, my suspicions were confirmed. When I invented the stories that sent Rolfe Maxwell away, I did it for your sake, believing you would be glad to be free again to renew your vows with Desha. If I made a grave mistake, as your words imply, I can only crave your pardon in all humility. My judgment was at fault, but my heart was true, and my remorse since poor Maxwell’s death has been keen and bitter, though so silent.”
She saw the signs of suffering on his pale grave face, and read them in his tremulous voice, and her heart was softened.
She cried in anguish:
“Oh, papa, I would give the world to undo the wrong done my dead husband! to have him back again, and tell him I love him for his bravery and for all he has suffered for my sake! But that is forever impossible, and I can only love him dead, and hope to meet him in another world, and so for the sake of that dear hope, that I may be good enough to attain future happiness, I must forgive you all you did in your mistaken zeal for me.”
She gave him her cold little hand, and let him kiss her tear-wet face, then hurried to her own room, to kneel down and weep the passionate tears of a vain despair.
“Let me kneel beside the bed,
Let my tears fall down like rain,
While I pray with drooping head: