Philip Desha reflected in anguish a moment, then answered, firmly: “I can not yield to you in this matter, Florian, because I must consider Viola’s happiness as well as my own. I believe she loves me still, and that she only married Maxwell out of pique because we quarreled on our wedding-eve and broke our engagement. Under present circumstances I hold myself loyally bound to her still if she will accept me.” “Then you and I are henceforth rivals and enemies,” Florian cried, violently, and Desha bowed in silence, and took an abrupt leave. CHAPTER XXXI. “COULD YE COME BACK TO ME, DOUGLAS, DOUGLAS!” Viola reached home after leaving Mae at the cottage in a whirl of conflicting emotions--pride in her dead husband’s heroism, anger at her father’s duplicity. “How excited you look, Viola. I believe you were imprudent in going out this afternoon,” cried the judge, solicitously. Viola’s somber gray eyes flashed sudden lightning as she cried: “I would not have missed going for anything in the world, for I have found out two very important things today.” Aunt Edwina cried out instantly with lively curiosity: “What were they, my dear?” “Oh, auntie, how surprised you will be when I tell you that I have found out who saved my life that day on the ice when I came so near being drowned!” proudly. Mrs. Herman groaned to herself: “Oh, dear, is that romance going to crop up again?” But aloud she said, placidly: “Yes, dear!” Viola threw her arms about the old lady, and cried, sobbingly: “Only think, it was he, my own dear, deeply injured Rolfe!” “Not Rolfe Maxwell!” cried the judge, starting to his feet in surprise. “Rolfe Maxwell, and no other!” Viola replied, a deep flush kindling in her cheek as she lifted her head, and added: “Rolfe Maxwell, the noble young hero whom you so generously rewarded for twice saving the life of your daughter.” “Rewarded!” stammered the judge, growing pale. “Yes, rewarded by treachery and falsehood, sending him away from his bride to meet a cruel death, his heart already broken by the thought that I was ungrateful, and repudiated my marriage vows. You, my father, whom I believed so noble and high-minded, invented cruel falsehoods to drive my husband away from me forever! And your cruel schemes, alas succeeded but too well. His death lies at your door!” cried Viola, in passionate reproach, her heart burning with a sense of her wrongs. “Viola, how did you learn these things?” groaned the judge, and she answered, frankly: “From his poor, bereaved mother, in whom he confided before he went away to meet a cruel death at the hands of the wicked Spaniards.” There followed a shocked silence, the judge realizing how bitterly he had erred, and how hopeless was the thought of any atonement to the man who lay in his untimely grave.