"Oh, Peter will marry a beetle! I expect we shall see him in England shortly. For myself, I do not complain of Fate; nor does Dolores."
Jack bent down tenderly, and kissed Dolores, which example seemed so good to Philip that he at once followed suit.
The sun was setting in the west, and the sky was one blaze of colours. Pale rose, tawny-yellow, and high above, the delicate blue of the departing day. The sky, the sea were all glittering with rainbow hues of unexampled brilliancy. The yacht, leaving all this splendour behind, steamed steadily onward towards the coming night.
"It is like the Chalchuih Tlatonac," said Dolores, pointing to the sunset.
"And we are leaving it behind," replied Jack, taking her hand; "but I do not regret it, querida. If Fate has denied me the harlequin opal, she has given me a dearer and more precious gift—yourself."
THE END.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.
The cover of this ebook was created by the transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.