She did not mean to play the eavesdropper. She had no idea at first that they were speaking of private matters. She was just tired, and her head and her heart both ached. Poor Daisie, and she lay listening dreamily, not caring at all what they were saying. But suddenly a sentence caught and fixed her attention, because it held the name of Dallas Bain. She listened, spellbound, her heart beating wildly in her fair breast, her face growing pale as death. So she knew at last--Royall Sherwood’s unloving wife--how she had been tricked and cheated out of happiness by that shameless scheming of Lutie Fleming. Should she stretch out her hand to draw back the curtain and denounce the plotters for the shipwreck of her life--for the lies she had been told when her lover was true as steel? No, she would not speak now. What could reproaches avail? She had walked into the spider’s web. She could not get free. What need to proclaim her misery to the wretches who had caused it? She got up, with a corpselike face, and dragged herself out into the hall, thinking that she would go back to her own room and lie down, she felt so strangely ill; but with her foot on the first step she reeled and fell backward to the floor, crushed by the weight of her soul’s despair. Patrick was just admitting some callers--Mrs. Hill-Dixon and her cousin, Lord Werter--when the sound of the fall drew their attention, and the gentleman rushed to the prostrate form. He saw her lying there like one dead, his life’s love, and, with a wild rush of tenderness, lifted the beautiful form in his arms, exclaiming: “Oh, heavens! what shall I do?” “Just carry her up to her own room, Dallas. Patrick will lead the way,” said Mrs. Hill-Dixon, who had a very practical mind, and saw that Daisie had fainted. Who could tell what thoughts rushed through his mind as he mounted the stairs with his lovely unconscious burden? The strongest one was a longing to crush her fondly against his breast and fly with her to the uttermost parts of the earth, his beautiful love, of whom he had been so cruelly cheated. He could not bear to lay her down, when the frightened maid came to his assistance, but his cousin reminded him of the proprieties by gently whispering in his ear: “Go down, now, and wait in the drawing-room for news.” He was loath to obey--he longed to rebel, to cry out fiercely: “I will not go until she opens her blue eyes and smiles on me, my lost love, of whom I was cheated by cruel lies!” But at that moment Annette entered and touched his hand warningly, as she exclaimed: “I am so glad to see you both. But now let us go down and leave Emma to care for Daisie. It is only a simple fainting fit. See, she is already opening her eyes.” It was true; and as they left the room Dallas could not resist the temptation of looking back. Yes, her eyes followed him with a wistful pain that pierced his heart to its center. CHAPTER XXXIII. LOVE THAT WOULD LAST