“I shall have to confess right in the beginning that for long months I have been masquerading under a false name, having, in fact, exchanged names with the man you are seeking.”
Viola and her father both exclaimed aloud in astonishment, and the young man continued:
“Yet I beg you to believe that I have done no wrong. It was a fair exchange made by mutual agreement.”
“But where is he now—my husband?” cried Viola, anxiously.
The stranger turned a pitying gaze on the lovely, anxious face, and said, gently:
“Please be patient with me, dear madame, and I will come to that presently.”
He had suffered untold horrors in the past months in the dreadful prison where his young life had been wasting away, but he would almost rather have endured another month of imprisonment than pierce her gentle heart with the story he had to tell.
When he remembered the beauty and gladness of her face as she first entered the room, and the sad change he saw upon it now, he realized how dearly she had loved Rolfe Maxwell, and how the end of his story would blast her heart.
“God help her to bear the sorrow she has come so far to meet!” he thought, wishing that he had such a beautiful love to welcome him on his return home.
“Tell me as quickly as you can! I can not bear this cruel suspense longer!” Viola cried to him entreatingly, her lily hands, on one of which the gleaming wedding-ring shone so brightly clasped convulsively across her wildly throbbing heart.