“How have I thought of thee? As turns The flower to meet the sun, E’en though when clouds and storms arise It be not shone upon; Thus, dear one, in thine eyes I see The only light that beams for me.” She had not waited more than an hour before her father returned with such a radiant face that she knew before he spoke he brought good news. “Dear papa!” she cried, inquiringly, springing up to meet him. “Viola, we are fortunate, most fortunate, in our quest. Rolfe Maxwell has been set free, and arrived in Havana this very morning!” he exclaimed, gladly. “Dear Heaven, I thank Thee!” she cried, fervently, tears of wild joy starting to her brilliant, upraised eyes, while she trembled violently with joyful emotion. To have loved and lost, and to find again, what rapture! Will not this be one of the supremest joys of Heaven when we “cross the moaning bar” and find waiting for us on the golden shore the dear ones who went from us through the dark portals of death to endless life? It was joy akin to this that thrilled Viola at her father’s words. Reading through his tenderness her yearning thought, the judge continued: “I have prepared a pleasant surprise for your husband, Viola. I have sent a messenger to bring him here to us, simply saying that some American friends long very much to see him.” “Then he will be coming--directly!” gasped Viola, dizzy with joy. “Yes, dear, and I shall give directions to have him come directly to your private parlor, so that you can receive him first alone, as naturally that will be most proper,” added the judge, kindly. Viola could not speak for emotion; she could only look her fervent gratitude as he turned to the door, saying: “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. 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!”