“Now make yourself as lovely as possible, and I will send you word as soon as he comes.”
Viola changed her plain traveling-gown for a soft, lusterless black silk, with touches of filmy white at throat and wrists, then sat down to wait in wild impatience, her heart throbbing fiercely, her cheeks glowing, her eyes brilliant with tenderness, her beauty almost unearthly in its splendor of joy.
Suddenly a servant appeared at the door, saying:
“Mr. Maxwell is waiting in your private parlor to see you.”
Viola leaped to her feet and flew to the room, impatience urging her like wings.
In the elegant apartment she saw a tall figure standing at the window, with its face turned away, the fine head crowned with waves of soft dark hair.
“Rolfe, dear Rolfe!” she cried out, in a tempest of feeling.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
“HOPE DEFERRED MAKETH THE HEART SICK.”
The man at the window turned about with a quick start and faced Viola.