ention, awaiting the inevitable command of Fate! All Nature seems
to tell me at times that there is a purpose in my living, a work for me
to do, and I feel so thoroughly _alive_--so ready to listen to the call
of duty--and to obey!"

"A dreamer!" she laughed, "as wild a dreamer as I!"

"Why not?" he returned. "All great deeds are born of dreams! It was a
dreamer who found this America you are so loyal to! And who knows but
that I too may find my world?"

"And a fatalist, too!"

"Why, of course! Everyone is, to a greater or a less extent, though
most dare not admit it!"

"But yesterday you said--what _did_ you say, Paul, about the power of
the human will over environment and fate?"

"I don't remember. That was yesterday. I'm not the same to-day, at all.
And to-morrow I may be quite different."

"Behold the consistency of man. But Fate, Paul--what makes Fate? I have
always been taught to believe that the world is what we make it!"

"And it is true, too, that in a way we may make the world what we will,
each creating it anew for himself, after his own pattern--but after all,
Opal, that is Fate. For what we _are_, we put into these worlds of ours,
and what we are is what our ancestors have made us--and that is what I
understand by destiny."

"Ah, Paul, you have so many noble theories of life."

His boyish face grew troubled and perplexed.

"I _thought_ I had, Opal--till I knew you! Now I do not know! Fate seems
to have taken a hand in the game and my theories are cast aside like
worthless cards. I begin to see more clearly that we cannot always
choose our paths."

"Can one ever, Paul?"

"Perhaps not! Once I believed implicitly in the omnipotence of the human
will to make life just what one wished. Now"--and he searched her
eyes--"I know better."

"Unlucky Opal, to cross your path!" she sighed. "Are you superstitious,
Paul? Do you know that opals bring bad luck to those who come beneath
the spell of their influence?"

"I'll risk the bad luck, Opal!"

And she smiled.

And he thought as he looked at her, how well she understood him! What an
inspiration would her love have brought to such a life as he meant his
to be! What a Recamier or du Barry she would have made, with her
_piquante_, captivating face, her dark, lustrous, compelling eyes, her
significant gestures, which despite many wayward words and phrases,
expressed only lofty and majestic thoughts! Her whole regal little
body, with its irresistible