His delighted eyes fell upon the most rarely beautiful girl he had ever seen, her great eyes starry with joy, her cheeks and lips abloom with excitement that set all her lovely dimples into play with welcoming smiles as she eagerly advanced to him, crying, excitedly:
“Rolfe, dear Rolfe!”
But, oh, what a sudden and terrible change came over that lovely face in an instant, turning all its radiance to gloom, as the twilight suddenly settles over a landscape but a moment since flooded with the golden glory of sunset!
It all came in an instant as she looked up into the face above her—the face of a handsome man, pale and wan with the prison pallor, and lighted by dark eyes gleaming out of hollow orbits—yet the face of an utter stranger, whose expression was one of keen surprise mixed with irrepressible admiration.
Viola comprehended that there had been some mistake, and made an effort to pull herself together, drawing back, and exclaiming, coldly:
“I—I—really, there must be some mistake! I expected to see Rolfe Maxwell.”
The stranger answered, respectfully:
“There is no mistake, Miss——. Pardon me, I do not know your name. I was sent for to come to this hotel to meet some American friends who longed to see me.”
“I sent the message; but you are not the Rolfe Maxwell I wished to see. Can there be two of the same name?” faltered Viola, with blanching cheeks.
“Not that I am aware of, Miss——” he began; and she supplied the name: