“Oh, Florian, give them to me!” her defiance melting into fear.
The cruel wrong he had suffered at her hands made him merciless.
“You shall never have them! They will help me to revenge, wicked, false-hearted girl!” he almost hissed, rushing madly from her presence out into the bleak March night, a man whose heart and hopes had been blasted in an hour.
Viola sank into a chair, her eyes wild, her face death-white, her heart beating to suffocation.
Clasping her white jeweled hands prayerfully, she lifted her face, sobbing despairingly:
“God help and pity me, and save me from the retribution my sins have brought upon me! Oh, what shall I do—what shall I do? Suppose he meets Philip on the threshold coming in. He will tell him all, unknowing that Philip is his successful rival. Oh, may Heaven hinder my dear love from coming here tonight!”
“Too late! I am here!” answered a deep, stern voice; and Philip Desha advanced through a door leading from the morning-room.
CHAPTER XVII.
VIOLA’S WATERLOO.
“When I loved you, I can’t but allow