“You are not willing to accept me as a son-in-law?” quietly. “No--nor Viola--as a husband!” Crisp, and clear, and cold, with an accent of contempt, the words fell, and Rolfe Maxwell started as if the point of a sword had been pressed against his heart. Then he said, huskily: “Viola wished you to tell me this?” “Yes, she has left everything to me. I shall take speedy steps to have the marriage annulled and set her free.” “To marry Desha?” “Certainly.” “She wishes it?” “Of course.” “Then I shall offer no opposition to her desires,” proudly. “Indeed, I came here this evening to tell her that unless she wished me to stay, I leave tomorrow for Cuba as a war correspondent.” “A clever idea. It will simplify matters. I thank you in Viola’s name for giving up your slight claim so easily.” “Slight claim, sir? She is my wife.” “Pshaw!” angrily. “Therefore, her happiness is dearer to me than my own; and I will make any sacrifice for her sake,” added the handsome young fellow, in a broken voice, as he rose and stood at the back of his chair, looking down from the superb height of his magnificent manly beauty on the unscrupulous man who was deceiving him so cruelly. “It is very good of you,” the judge said stiffly, feeling ill at ease with himself at the part he was playing, but thankful that the young husband could be imposed on easily. But the next moment Rolfe startled him by saying, pleadingly, casting pride aside in the anguish of his love: “Will you not permit me a few moments with Viola to bid her good-bye? Remember, it is a dangerous post to which I go. A war correspondent’s life is in hourly peril if he goes to the front as I am going. Viola may be a widow before she secures her divorce.” The deep, musical voice quivered with the weight of his broken hopes and scorned love, but the judge was pitiless. “It is impossible for you to see her. She would not be willing,” he said. “You are sure--quite sure?” “If I can believe her word!” “Then she must be heartless indeed!” Rolfe burst out, indignantly, his great eyes flashing on the proud man, as he added: “May God forgive her for denying me the only boon I prayed for--a last word, one last look!” and he rushed from the luxurious room out into the bleak March night that seemed to him no colder than the heart of her on whom he had poured out the costly libation of a true heart’s love in vain. One bitter task remained to him, to go home to his tender mother and confess the blighting truth that Viola had repented her hasty marriage and returned to her father’s house to seek his protection while she secured the annulment of her fetters, and to prepare her for his own departure on the morrow. This accomplished, there remained nothing more in life but grim duty. His noble heart, like many others, had been sacrificed on the altar of a fair coquette’s capricious fancy. Judge Van Lew sat long where Rolfe Maxwell had left him smoking and trying to put down an uneasy conscience.