"See," he said, "how sharp the diamond scintillations are compared to this softened glory! Do you see that throbbing that keeps the colors all the time in play? That's my heart, beloved, as it quivers with pain and shame when, belonging to you utterly, I have to ignore you before the world. Do you guess how I suffer--I, who am bound--I, who am helpless! I live only by your mercy--for I love you with all my soul!" And, woman-like, she hid her own grief, and comforted him, and arranged her violets and talked over their mutual triumphs and Dorothy's last note. For he had great regard for the gentle creature in whom he recognized great moral strength. And, as he was leaving, he looked at a trophy of small arms and weapons on the wall, and said: "This Turkish inlaid thing is rusting, Sybil, and this dagger--which is genuine--needs attention, too. Let Jane Penny bring them over to-night, with that bulldog revolver I left upstairs. If Jim is straightened up by that time he will clean the whole outfit to-morrow. The property-man's shooting-irons are all out of kilter, too. There'll be a good day's job to clean and oil them all, but it's the sort of pottering work Jim likes. Good-by, sweetheart! Take an hour's rest, dear, before going to the theatre. Beatrice needs to be well keyed up, you know." He kissed her lips and eyes and hair, and left her. And she stood and cried: "He loves me! He has crowned me! I love him with my whole heart! I thank him from my very soul! But oh, what a position is mine! Unmarried--I am deprived of all freedom and girlish pleasures! A wife--I am denied the honors and prerogatives of marriage!" Her eyes fell upon the great opal, quivering, glowing, glinting! "He suffers, too," she said. "Poor Stewart!" and again she wondered if he knew the superstition attached to opals, and, turning, took the rusting weapons from the trophy. CHAPTER XXVII THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN Long before Sybil rose next morning Leslie Galt had left at the door a great bunch of lilacs, the very first spring blossoms from Dorothy's own garden, and with it a note. Stivers took them into the bedroom with the breakfast tray, and as Sybil put out her hand to take the letter Jane gave a cry of dismay. "For God's sake! is that thing real?" she asked, pointing to the splendid ring. "I--I thought last night it was an extra fine stage jewel. Do you mean to sit there with that unlucky stone just calling out for death and destruction, fire or flood or scandal or--or all of them together to come upon you? Take it off, I say! _take it off_! and let me carry it back, for, of course, it was Mr. Thrall who gave it to you! He must be off his head--and I'll tell him so!" "Oh!" laughed Sybil, "do you mind it so much? No! I could not send it back, that would hurt the giver's feelings; besides, what possible harm can a thing so beautiful do to one?"