Then her lashes fell, and she waited in humble silence, hearing in the stillness her own muffled heart-beats.
Pale, stern, handsome Philip Desha stood looking at the girl like her avenging Nemesis.
He spoke, and she started at the hollow tone of his voice.
“Viola, how can you expect forgiveness for your cruelty?”
She murmured, faintly:
“I did not intend to be cruel, but my heart wandered from him to you! Oh, Philip, can that be a crime in your eyes?”
“Not that, Viola, but your deceit. When I asked you to marry me, why did you not confess your previous engagement, and tell me you would ask Florian to release you? That would have been the honest way, and my love could have forgiven that much, but this treachery never!”
“Philip!” incredulously, holding out her beautiful arms imploringly, her streaming eyes upturned in prayerful entreaty.
But her love, her penitence, and her beauty did not move the honest heart of her outraged lover to forgiveness.
He said, icily: