"I know what you mean, dear," she said. "You have been angry with me because Ronald loved me. You could not help it, dear. I am sorry, but I am not angry. You cannot be very envious of me. His love has not brought me much happiness." It was an anguished plaint from the young heart that had suffered for years in brave silence. Violet looked at her in wonder. "Oh, Lina," she cried, "how have you borne your sorrow all these years?" "Violet, I could not tell you," she answered. "Sometimes I wonder at myself when I look back through the long years and remember how hard it was to bear. I think it was only my art that kept my heart from breaking." "Ah! I have had nothing to divert my mind," cried Violet. "I have spent my whole time thinking of Ronald Valchester--yes, and trying to win him! You need not look so pained, Lina. I loved him before you ever saw him, and it always seemed to me that I had the prior right to him." She paused, then as Jaquelina made no reply she went on slowly: "After you were lost to him so strangely, I set my whole heart on winning him. I think--nay, I am almost sure that I must have succeeded in time if only--ah, if only you had not come back, Lina!" Lina clasped her white hands tightly as she looked at the speaker. "What difference could that make?" she asked. "You know it is impossible I should win him, Violet. By his own will we are separated forever!" "Yes, I know that," said Violet, "but, you see, Lina, you have turned his thoughts into the past." The words were spoken with almost a sob. As the singer made no reply she continued fretfully, and almost reproachfully: "You have ruined everything by coming back Lina. You have spoiled Ronald's peace, and made Walter's heart ache. And you have destroyed my only hope of happiness. I know I shall surely die!" CHAPTER XXXIII. Those who attended the opera that night thought that Madam Dolores sang more exquisitely than ever before. She poured her whole heart into the passionate strains of the music. She held every heart chained by the power of her beauty and genius. The impressible throng was swayed tumultuously. Men's hearts beat fast with love for her beauty and admiration for her genius, yet, although their hearts lay at her feet, no one dreamed that it was possible to win her. There was a look on the fair face beneath the diamond tiara that bound the dark hair that forbade the thought. There was a story written on that face--a story of poetry, and passion, and sorrow. The dark eyes did not dwell on men's faces. They looked down as if in mournful retrospection. The scarlet lips but seldom smiled. The cheeks were always pale. One pair of eyes followed every movement of the _prima donna_ with a passionate pain and repressed yearning in their grave, sad depths.