ke the boom of a thousand cannon; like menacing
blades the lightning flashed its tongues of savage flame; the winds
raved in relentless fury, rocking the giant trees like straws in the
majesty of their wrath. Madness reigned in undisputed sovereignty, and
the earth cowered and trembled beneath the anger of the threatening
heavens.

Opal crouched in her bed, and buried her head in the pillows. She had
never before known the meaning of fear, but now she was alone, and the
consciousness of guilt was upon her--the acute agony of their separation
mingled with the despairing prospect of a long, miserable loveless--yes,
_shameful,_--life as the legal slave of a man she abhorred.

She did not regret the one day she had given to her lover. Whatever the
cost, she would never, never regret, she said to herself, for it had
been well worth any price that might be required of her. She gloried in
it, even now, while the storm raged outside.

And the thunders crashed like the falling of mighty rocks upon the roof
over her head. Should she summon Celeste, her maid?

Suddenly, as the tempest paused as if to catch its breath, she heard
footsteps in the corridor outside. It was very late--who could be
prowling about at this hour? She listened intently, every nerve and
sense keenly alert. Nearer and nearer the steps came, and then she
remembered with a start that in the excitement of her stealthy return to
the hotel and the anguish and madness of their parting, she had
forgotten to fasten her door.

There came a light tap on the panel. She did not speak or move--hardly
breathed. Then the door opened, noiselessly, cautiously, and he--her
lover, her king--entered, the dim light of her room making his form, as
it approached, appear of even more than its usual majestic height and
power.

"Paul!" she whispered.

He seemed in a strange daze. Had the storm gone to his head and driven
him mad?

"Yes, it is I," he said hoarsely. "It is Paul. Don't cry out. See, I am
calm!" and he laid his hand on hers. It was burning with fever. "I will
not hurt you, Opal!"

Cry out? Hurt her? What did he mean? She had no thought of crying out.
Of course he would not hurt her--her lover, her lord, her king! Did she
not belong to him--now?

He sat down and took her hands in his.

"Opal," he muttered, "I've been thinking, thinking, thinking, till I
feel half-mad--yes, mad! Dearest, I cannot give you up like this--I
cannot! Let you go to _his_ arms--you