least afraid!
Her eyes had room only for her overwhelming love--love--just love, no
fear, even that hour when face to face with the Great Mystery. And this
was her blood--_hers!_"

He believed that she had been glad to die. He believed--oh, he was sure,
that death in his arms--and from his hand--had been sweeter than life
could have been--with that wretch--and always without him--her lover!
Yes, she had been glad to die. She had been grateful for her escape! And
again the dagger drew his fascinated gaze and wrung from his lips the
cry, "Her blood--hers! God in Heaven! Her blood!--hers!"

He put his hand to his head with an inarticulate cry of bewilderment.
Then, with one supreme effort, he began to stagger hastily but
noiselessly about the room. The servants of the house were already
astir, and the day would soon be here. He put his sacred letters
carefully away, and destroyed all worthless papers, mechanically, but
still methodically.

Then he hastily scribbled a few lines, and laid them beside his letters,
for Verdayne would be with him now in a few hours. His father--yes, his
own father! How he would like to see him once more--just once more--with
the knowledge of their relationship as a closer bond between them--to
talk about his mother--his beautiful, queenly mother--and her wonderful,
wonderful love! Yet--and he sighed as he thought of his deserted
kingdom--after all, all in vain--in vain! It was not to be--all that
glory--that triumph! Fate had willed differently. He was obeying the
Law!

And his mother would not fail to understand. Verdayne must have loved
his mother like this! O God, Love was a fearful thing, he thought, to
wreck a life--a terrible thing, even a hideous thing--but in spite of
everything it was all that was worth living for--and dying for!

The storm had spent its fury now, and only the steady drip, drip of the
rain reminded him of the falling of tears.

"Opal!" he groaned, "Opal!" And he threw himself upon the bed, clasping
his dagger in uncontrollable agony. "O life is cruel, hard, bitter! I'll
none of it!--we'll none of it, you and I!" His voice grew triumphant in
its raving. "It was worth all the cost--even the sorrow and death! But
the end has come! Opal! Opal! I am coming, sweet!--coming!"

And the dagger, still red with the blood of his darling, found its
unerring way to his own heart; and Paul Zalenska forgot his dreams, his
ambitions, his love, his passion, and his despair in th