“I thought I had never seen the man you married, but I recognized him instantly as the young man who saved your life the day you skated through the ice. But of course he told you?” Viola’s eyes flashed through starting tears. “No; he did not tell me! Can it really be true?” she exclaimed. Mae Sweetland clasped her hand, and answered, unexpectedly: “Yes, Viola; it is quite true. Rolfe confessed it all to Aunt Margaret during the illness that followed his wetting and exposure that day. He was so modest that he would never permit his name to be known, though he almost died of pneumonia afterward.” Viola put her handkerchief to her face, sobbing: “I have all the more reason to love his memory.” Meanwhile, Desha looked curiously at the lovely young stranger, and Florian hastened to present her as Viola’s cousin, while Mae added: “I was Rolfe Maxwell’s cousin.” They both wondered why Maxwell had not lost his heart to this artless beauty before he ever saw Viola, but of course they could not utter their thoughts aloud, and the embarrassing scene quickly ended by Viola dashing the tears from her eyes and wishing them a faltering good-bye as she moved to the door with Mae by her side. The two men were left alone standing, with the portrait of the dead man upturned to their eyes in Florian’s hand. “Deuced handsome beggar!” he growled; then, after a pause: “It was clever in him to go off and die like that, and leave her free, eh?” “It seems heartless to the dead to say so,” Desha answered, generously; and then there fell an embarrassing silence. Florian broke it by saying, abruptly: “Let us be frank with each other. Viola is free again. She has served us each a bad turn, yet I believe we have both got over our rage, and love her still. Am I right?” Philip Desha sighed as he answered: “You are right.” “That is what I thought,” answered Florian, sullenly; adding: “I give you fair warning that I intend to woo Viola for the second time.” A quick flash came to Desha’s blue eyes, and he said, firmly: “You understand that I shall be your rival?” “I feared so. You stole her from me once, and no doubt you will do so again, if possible,” Florian replied with bitterness, his lips curling in a sneer. Desha would have been angry with any one else but Florian, but he understood the young man’s fiery temper and pitied his sorrow, not dreaming of the slight he also had put upon Viola on her wedding-eve. Gazing reproachfully at the young man, he exclaimed: “Are you doing me justice, Florian?” “Justice?” “Yes, justice! You must surely be aware that when I became a suitor for Viola’s hand I was ignorant of any claim you had on her heart.” “Yes, I know it, and I have made due allowance for the fact; but if you wish me to forgive you and to atone for the past, the way is clear.” “How?” “Give up your pretensions to her hand, and leave the field clear for me to win her again,” boldly answered Florian.