“AFTER LONG GRIEF AND PAIN.”
“She left her home, she lost her pride,
Forgot the jeering world--ah, me!
And followed a knight who fought and bled
All for the sake of--chivalry.”
Viola did not cry out in despair and faint and fall as they
foreboded--she simply bowed her face upon her father’s arm in a silence
more terrible and fatal than the wildest grief--the silence of a fond
heart breaking in the awful revulsion from hope to despair.
The two men looked at each other in silent sympathy; then the judge
said, hopefully:
“Sometimes these reports from the battle-field are
exaggerated--sometimes totally false, as in the case of your reported
death. Perhaps this may prove a _cannard_.”
“Let us hope so,” said Arthur Linwood; adding: “I was about to suggest
that we make further investigations before we give up hope, and as you
will not wish to leave your daughter just now, permit me to go and find
out if possible the real truth of the matter, which I will report to
you as soon as I can.”
The judge was only too glad to avail himself of the kindness of the
noble young man who already seemed like an old friend, his connection
with Rolfe Maxwell forming a bond of union between their hearts.
Arthur Linwood bowed himself out, casting back a sympathetic glance at
the beautiful bowed head of the hapless girl who knew not whether to
call herself wife or widow.
He thought, enthusiastically:
“It is no wonder that Maxwell told me he had married the most beautiful
and charming woman in the world. I have never seen any one to compare
with her for beauty and grace, though I have traveled over half the
world, and seen many beauties in my time. I am glad she told me so soon
that she was married, for my head was in a whirl as soon as I saw her
radiant face, and I should have been seas over in love in ten minutes
if I had not found out so soon that the case would be hopeless. But
now, I pray Heaven, that the news may not be true, and that Maxwell
may live for the happiness awaiting him in his young bride’s love. It
must have been a terrible mistake that parted them, for if ever I read
devotion on a woman’s face it shone on hers in that moment when she met
me, believing I was her husband.”
Meanwhile, Viola and her father remained at their hotel, waiting in the
keenest suspense for news, until some hours later when he returned.
“The report is unfortunately true,” he said, sorrowfully. “Poor Rolfe
is indeed badly wounded, and the impression is that he must die. But
cheer up, my friends, for you know the old saying, while there’s life
there’s hope. I have learned that Rolfe has been brought from the
battle-field to a hospital near Havana, and I consider it a hopeful
sign that he was able to bear the journey. Now I believe that with the
aid of the Consul-General we may be permitted to visit the hospital.”
Viola looked up and spoke the first sentence she had uttered for hours.
“Oh, for sweet pity’s sake, let us hasten the arrangements!” she cried,
feverishly.
* * * * *
Captain Linwood, the young American hero, or Rolfe Maxwell, as we shall
henceforth know him, lay with half-closed, dark, weary eyes on his cot
in the hospital ward, thinking half regretfully of what the surgeon on
his afternoon round had just said to him:
“Cheer up, my lad, cheer up! You’re worth a dozen dead men yet. I’m
just going out to send a report to the newspapers that the story of
your being mortally wounded is all bosh. A young fellow with a splendid
physique like yours is not going to die of some severe scratches and an
arm broken in two places by bullets because he waved the Cuban flag so
high in the enemy’s face. I’ll own that you’re disabled from fighting
for many months to come. But what of that? You need a rest, and if
you recuperate fast, you can go home to your friends in a few weeks,
and there’s still a sound arm to embrace your best girl with, ha! ha!
Come now, brighten up, I say! You don’t show as much pluck in bearing
pain as you did in facing the enemy; but you’ve got to cultivate
cheerfulness just to aid your recovery.”
He went away rather anxious over his patient’s settled despondency, and
Rolfe lay ruminating with a feverish flush on his cheeks and a hopeless
sorrow in his fine dark eyes.
“Ah, if he only knew how little I care to get well, and that both arms
might as well have been broken, for they will never again embrace a
woman’s form in love. Why did not the Spanish soldiers give me release
in the midst of battle from this torture of life? Must I indeed recover
in spite of myself when I would rather die, even though I know she
would not shed one tear when she heard that my heart was still at
last--the heart that loved her fatally and too well?”
Some familiar lines he had often read seemed to float mockingly through
his weary brain:
“I go--and she doth miss me not!
So shall I die, and be forgot--
Forgot as is some sorrow past,
Or cloud by fleeting sickness cast.
“Death and the all-absorbing tomb
Will hide me in eternal gloom.
And she will live--as gay--alone,
As though I had been never known.”
He closed his heavy eyes as soft footsteps and the flutter of a woman’s
robe came down the ward between the rows of white beds. Some one
suddenly knelt beside his narrow cot.
“A kind Sister of Charity to pray for me,” he thought; but a soft hand
fell on his head caressingly, and tears splashed down hotly on his
wasted cheek.
“Rolfe, my darling husband!” sobbed a tender voice, and his eyes
flashed open wildly.
“Viola! Is this a dream?”
“No, it is not a dream, my darling. It is your wife, Viola, your true,
loving wife. Do not be excited, dear, for the good doctor said I must
be careful, lest the happiness of seeing me might agitate you too much.
Be quiet, dear, for I will do all the talking after you have just said
you will forgive me for causing you so much sorrow. But I have so much
to tell you, and the first thing is this: Papa made a great mistake,
for I loved you all the while, and we shall never be parted again!”
sealing the promise with a tender, lingering kiss.
THE END.
Transcriber’s Notes:
This story was originally serialized in the _Fireside Companion_ story
paper from July 24, 1897 to September 25, 1897.
The original _Hart Series_ edition of this book included a promotional
preview of _Nameless Bess; or, The Triumph of Innocence_ (chapters
I-III) at the end. This extra material, plus a rear cover advertisement
for issues 1-103 of the series, have been excluded from this electronic
edition.
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Some inconsistent hyphenation (e.g. “tomorrow” vs. “to-morrow”) has
been retained from the original.
Unusual capitalization of some chapter titles in the table of contents
has been retained from the original.