reast.

Paul could not bear it. He turned away with a sob in his throat and
looked into Verdayne's eyes with such an expression of utter
hopelessness that the older man felt his own eyes moisten with the
fervor of his sympathy. That poor, humble ranchman possessed something
that was denied the Boy, prince of the blood though he was.

And the two men talked of commonplace subjects that night in subdued
tones that were close to tears. Both hearts were aching with the
consciousness of unutterable and irreparable loss.

* * * * *

Through the long nights that followed, out there in the primitive, Paul
thought of the hideousness of life as he saw it now, with a loathing
that time seemed only to increase. He pictured Opal--his love--as the
wife of that old French libertine, till his soul revolted at the very
thought. Such a thing was beyond belief.

Once he said to Verdayne, thinking of the conversation he had had with
Opal on the night of the ball at the Plaza,

"Father Paul, who was Lord Hubert Aldringham? The name sounds so
familiar to me--yet I can't recall where I heard it."

"Why, he was my uncle, Boy, my mother's brother. A handsome, wicked,
devil-may-care sort of fellow to whom nothing was sacred. You must have
heard us speak of him at home, for mother was very fond of him."

"And you, Father Paul?"

"I--detested him, Boy!"

And then the Boy told him something that Opal had said to him of the
possibility--nay, the probability--of Lord Hubert's being her own
grandfather. Verdayne was pained--grieved to the heart--at the terrible
significance of this--if it were true. And there was little reason,
alas, to doubt it! How closely their lives were woven together--Paul's
and Opal's! How merciless seemed the demands of destiny!

What a juggler of souls Fate was!

* * * * *

And the month of August passed away. And September found the two men
still wandering in an aimless fashion about the prairie country, and yet
with no desire for change. The Boy was growing more and more
dissatisfied, less and less resigned to the decrees of destiny.

At last, one dull, gray, moonless night, when neither could woo coveted
sleep to his tired eyes, the Boy said to his companion, "Father Paul,
I'm going to be a man--a man, do you hear? I am going to New
Orleans--you know Mr. Ledoux asked us to come in September--and I'm
going to marry Opal, whatever the consequences