They went, but Dorian dwelt ceaselessly on the memory of that strange night when Nita had come to him and laid her head on his breast and her arms about his neck--aye, and kissed him, too, with ardent lips that seemed to burn with the breath of life. He prayed Heaven to grant him that sweet vision of his lost love again. Van Hise was in despair. "He will go crazy in earnest if he keeps on this way," he said to himself, despondently. It was nearing spring then, and they were in Paris. But Dorian was familiar with Paris. Perhaps he had exhausted its delights long ago. He wearied of its splendors. "I am tired. Let us go somewhere else," he said impatiently. "But, my dear fellow, we have been everywhere." "No, we have not. I know some men who are going on a journey into the interior of Norway. I have accepted for us both their invitation to join the party," said reckless Dorian. "It will be quite out of the world," groaned the soldier, but he yielded. It was strange that Dorian and Nita should both be abroad so many months without meeting each other, or even being aware of each other's movements. And yet it was a fact that Captain Van Hise and Dorian had never even heard that Nita was alive, and Nita knew nothing of Dorian since the fateful night when Jack Dineheart had torn her from his arms and carried her back to Pirate Beach. Since she had gone abroad with the Courtneys, life had been one feverish whirl of gayety, change, and sight-seeing. Nita, with her heart upon the rack, and a smile upon her lips, had borne her part bravely in all, lavishing gold like water in the pursuit of forgetfulness. The Courtneys, nothing loath, accepted her munificence, and made the most of it, although wondering at her reckless extravagance. They did not know how often she said to herself: "The chest of gold is melting like snow in the sun, but why should I care? There remain to me but a few more months of life and liberty, then--darkness, nothingness, and death. Let me make the most of it!" Mrs. Courtney had been in London in her days of prosperity, and had acquaintances among the nobility. In the spring, when the London season set in, she introduced her ward into the most fashionable set. And the fashionable world raved over the charms of _la belle Americaine_. She had lovers by the score. Hearts and titles were laid at her feet, but all soon echoed what Mrs. Courtney had frankly told them of Nita: "She has no heart." Nita only smiled when they accused her of her fault. "It is quite true," she said. "I have no heart to give any one. Why do you not fall in love with pretty, golden-haired Azalea?" One man, piqued at her indifference, tried to take her advice. He transferred his attention to the affable blonde. He was Sir George Merlin, a wealthy baronet, middle-aged, but very goodlooking. He was vain and conceited, and Nita's rejection hurt his pride as well as his love. He proposed to Azalea through pure pique.