"It would be better so," she answered, "unless you have changed your convictions," and he could not help seeing the trembling hope that came into her eyes. "Oh! Ronald, have you never changed in all these years? Do you still hold me bound to that terrible man by a law man cannot repeal?" Her calmness had broken down. The anguish of that wild and sudden appeal thrilled through his heart. He had no words to answer her. He saw the dark eyes gazing at him through a mist of tears, the white roses trembled on her breast with the quick beating of her heart. He could not answer the question. With a stifled moan he turned from the sight of her sorrowful beauty, and rushed from the room, while the beautiful singer fell like a broken lily to the floor and prayed to die. CHAPTER XXX. Ronald Valchester thought after he had left the presence of his lost love that day that he would not attend the opera again at night. But he had promised his mother, who had just arrived in New York that morning, to accompany her, and he had also engaged the same box with Walter and Violet Earle, so it was almost impossible for him to remain away. When the vast theater rang with the wild plaudits that greeted the queen of song, he was in his place by his mother's side, and his eyes saw nothing clearly but the one face that had filled his heart for years--his ears heard nothing but the silvery voice that carolled its songs to the world now, but which long ago--it seemed years and years, measured by his pain--had sung to him alone beneath the blossoming apple boughs, while her heart had thrilled within him at the sweetness of the strain. How like and how unlike was the brilliant _prima donna_ of to-night, to the pretty, simple girl of three years ago. The love-light that had beamed in those dark eyes then was so different from their quiet sadness now. As she stood there in her costly robes and gleaming jewels, while fragrant flowers rained at her feet, and the rapturous applause thundered over her head, her beauty was peerless. Yet no smile curved the rich, red lips as she bent her graceful head, though the lashes swept low on the cheek that for a moment wore a crimson flush like the sunset glow. There was no gladness on the beautiful face, and yet it was not cold or indifferent. It was only touched on the fair, low brow, in "the dark--dark eyes," and on the arched, crimson lips with "the sadness of thought." Walter Earle gazed on the singer, too, with his heart in his eyes. He believed that Madame Dolores was Jaquelina Meredith. The conviction grew upon him. And Violet, sitting by her brother's side, a fair and graceful figure in blue velvet and pearls, on which many eyes gazed admiringly, watched that slender, stately figure, and listened to the musical voice with untold feelings of horror and despair. When the curtain was rung down on the first act, stately Mrs. Valchester leaned over to murmur to Violet: