“Let me give one hour to tears, Pressing heavy on my heart, For the weary, hopeless years, While I act my bitter part; Smiling in the world’s cold face, Lest it guess my hidden pain, Weeping in this secret place, For love’s treasure given in vain.” When Desha saw the white-robed girl hidden there among the palms, with her face in her hands, sobbing low and bitterly, a passionate longing came to him to take her in his arms and try to comfort her in her tender sorrow, but instead he turned quickly away, praying in his heart that she would not notice his intrusion. But through her stifled sobs Viola’s ear caught the sound of the entering footstep. She sprang forward to hide herself behind the palm from curious eyes, and at the same moment caught the sound of a heavy fall. Peering from behind her ambush, she saw that the intruder, in his haste to retreat, had stumbled over a flower-stand and fallen just inside the door. He must have been stunned by the fall, for he lay quite motionless, with his pale, handsome face upturned to the light, and she saw with alarm that it was no other than the object of her painful thoughts--Philip Desha! CHAPTER XIII. A SWEET CONFESSION. Viola darted forward with a stifled cry, and knelt by the silent, recumbent figure. She saw that a few drops of blood had started from a small cut on his white temple, and guessed that in falling he had struck his head against the corner of the flower-stand, thus rendering him momentarily unconscious. All the womanly tenderness in her started with grief at the sight, and dipping her lace handkerchief, already wet with tears, into a glass globe that held some beautiful gold fish, she began to bathe his face with the cold water, murmuring agitatedly to herself: “I must try to revive him myself, for I should not like to call for help. The situation would be rather embarrassing. They would only say I was here flirting with him, and wonder why he fell down, and at the tears on my cheeks.” And she dabbled his face and fair hair most energetically with the cold water, her soft hands touching him caressingly, freighted with the love that filled her heart. And her fair face bent so close to his in her anxiety that the salty drops of pity fell on his brow and mixed with the cold water she was so copiously using as a restorative. Then she began to get frightened. “Why, how long he is in reviving! It must be more serious than I thought!” she cried, anxiously; adding: “I am afraid I must call help; but I will wait a minute longer.” It was enough to frighten her, that deathly stillness and pallor of the handsome man, and she sobbed: “Oh, what if this should be death? I have heard that a blow on the temple might cause death. And here is quite a keen little cut. I--I wish that I could kiss it and make it well, as mothers say to their little children.”