A long swoon had resulted, and they feared at first a relapse into serious illness. But in a day or two Viola rallied, though a new expression had come into her face that startled them with its somber, far-away look. She did not mention her dead husband’s name, but she insisted on being fitted out at once in widow’s mourning. They entreated and expostulated, but Viola insisted all the more resolutely, and in her weak, nervous state it was dangerous to thwart her wishes, so she had her way. “After all, it may be better so,” Mrs. Herman said, soothingly, to the perturbed judge. “Fortunately, the young man died before you had begun the action for divorce, so if Viola chooses to enact the part of a bereaved young widow, it will excite less comment than if she appeared indifferent and wore no black.” So, because it seemed the easiest way to prevent talk, Viola was permitted to take up the role of a grieving young widow, though her father said, brusquely: “Viola must be genuinely fond of a sensation, or she would not be willing to carry out such a farce of mourning for a man she never pretended to love.” “It is to punish Desha, perhaps,” returned Mrs. Herman, who had been taken into the bitter secret of Viola’s wedding-eve; and she added, thoughtfully: “No one can tell just what is in Viola’s mind. She is so strange since she heard the news of Maxwell’s death. And really it would not have been hard to love such a magnificent young man if her heart had not already been engaged by Desha. I remember, when you first sent him here, I tried to prevent an interview between them, fearing a flirtation, she was so giddy.” “I made a great mistake having him here at all,” groaned the judge. “But it is too late to repent it now. After all, he was a fine young fellow, and made himself a splendid fame before he died. One need not be ashamed of such a son-in-law.” “No; and we must not be hard on poor Viola,” said the gentle lady. And as Viola never did things by halves, they were not surprised when she said frankly one day: “Papa, I think it is only right that I should make a call on my mother-in-law. She will feel as if I did not love Rolfe much if I neglect my duty to her now that he is dead.” “How superbly she carries out the farce,” he thought; but he did not express his disapprobation of her wish. He merely said, coldly and briefly: “Of course you must do as you think best, my dear.” “Thank you,” she faltered, sensitively, conscious of his disapproval, but ordering the carriage just the same for that afternoon. CHAPTER XXVIII. VIOLA’S VINDICATION. “What lacks my heart, what makes it So weary and full of pain? That trembling hope forsakes it Never to come again! Only another heart, Tender and all mine own, In the still grave it lies; I weep alone!”