It was so sad, people said, that her young husband, who had parted from her the very night of the wedding to go to Cuba, should be far from her side now in her terrible extremity; but there were others who did not mind saying that she was getting punishment now for jilting Philip Desha, who went about with a face like a dead man’s, in his cruel humiliation, and was feared to be losing his mind. As for Florian Gay, no one guessed what a part he had played in the tragedy of Viola’s life. He kept his own counsel and sought what diversion he could, soothing his pain with the triumph of the revenge he had taken on his false love. Weeks came and went while Viola lay in her white-hung chamber, battling with the dread disease that threatened her life, and meanwhile stirring events took place outside. As the bleak March days passed into the showers and sunshine of fickle April, and the people of the United States began to have their sympathies aroused for poor Cuba, bleeding in the chains of Spanish tyranny, news came from the beautiful island in the sea that blanched the cheek and crushed the loving heart of the poor mother waiting in her cottage home, while her only son risked the dangers of invading the insurgents’ lines in quest of reliable news for his paper at home. For about three weeks he had electrified his countrymen by his thrilling accounts of the war and the true state of affairs in Cuba. His pen-pictures and illustrations were read and gazed upon with interest by millions of eager eyes. From the position of an unknown reporter he had leaped at a bound to fame. It was as if he had thrown himself heart and soul into his work, determined to find in its fascinating toil and danger a balm for the pangs of despised love. Suddenly his newspaper ceased to print anything more from his pen, and directly it announced the reason. By order of the notorious General Weyler, commander of the Spanish army, Rolfe Maxwell had been seized and thrown into prison for the news he had been sending to America. Accused as a spy, he had been placed in the terrible prison, Morro Castle, when each morning at day-break rang out the fatal shots that told off the lives of hapless prisoners. Swiftly following the news of Rolfe Maxwell’s arrest his name appeared in the list of those who had suffered death in Morro Castle for his sympathy with Cuba, and his fearless recital of her cruel wrongs to a sympathizing world. The heroic young correspondent had been foully slain, and a nation mourned his loss. It was barely five weeks since he had been sent to his doom by the relentless father of Viola, who shuddered as he read the news, muttering: “He spoke prophetically when he said Viola might be a widow before she secured a divorce.” CHAPTER XXVII. VIOLA’S NEW ROLE.