She mopped his face again with the water, she chafed his cold hands again in hers with a tenderness that was enough to call a dead man back to life, but still he lay there mute and pale, arousing her worst fears. She began to pray in a low, whispering voice full of pathos: “Oh, God, do not be so cruel as to let him die! Give him back to me! He is the only man in the world that I could love! Perhaps that is why you will let him die--to punish me for my wicked flirtations when I did not know what a pain love was--real love that aches in my heart for him, though he despises me. And no wonder, for he is a thousand times too good for me, and could never love me because I have been so vain and silly, for of course he could not know how I have repented now. Oh, God, spare him, don’t let him die--don’t let him die!” It was enough to move angels to pity, the low, whispering voice, the tears, the clasped hands; but Heaven seemed deaf to her prayer, for the lids still lay heavily on Desha’s eyes, and she could not see his broad chest move with the faintest breath. Her heart sank with a terrible alarm, and she murmured, wildly: “I must summon help!” But just as she was rising from her knees, she saw his eyelids move, then flutter languidly open. “Oh,” she murmured, in a tremor of joy and thanksgiving, and his large blue eyes gazed languidly into her own. “Viola!” he murmured, in a soft voice freighted with ecstasy, and she started at the sound of her name from his lips. “Oh, you are better!” she exclaimed, gladly, her voice trembling with the joy of her heart. “May I help you to rise?” holding out her little hands. He accepted the proffered aid most eagerly, and when he had risen to his feet, retained the little hands, and drew her suddenly to his heart. “Viola, don’t shrink away from me!” he cried, ardently. “I love you, darling--have loved you hopelessly for months, but just now as I was coming back to consciousness, I thought I was in Heaven, for I heard low, whispered words from your dear lips--a prayer for my life, a confession that I was dear to you. Oh, Viola, is it indeed true? Am I so blest as to hold a place in your heart? Will you be kind to me? Will you be my wife?” “I love you, Philip!” sobbed the agitated girl, hiding her face on his breast, and trembling at the ardent kiss he pressed on her quivering, crimson lips. CHAPTER XIV. SEVERAL SECRETS. “Like one who trusts to summer skies And puts his little bark to sea, Is he who, lured by smiling eyes, Consigns his simple heart to thee.” “I will be your wife, dear Philip, but no one must know of our engagement just yet. You must keep it a secret until I give you leave to tell.” Viola whispered those words against her lover’s cheek before they returned to the drawing-room, and they gave him a keen pang of disappointment.