Like one dazed he turned slowly around, setting his miserable face toward the lights and the music, but his overwrought nerves could stand no more, strong man though he was, and without a moan or a cry he fell headlong upon the white sands at her feet—like a hero in a great battle falls when he has received his death wound, crying out: “When love has conquered pride and anger, you may call me back again.”
“Great heavens! what a dilemma!” cried Queenie Trevalyn, angrily. She did not pause a moment to lave his face with the cooling water so near at hand, or to take the trouble to ascertain if his headlong fall had injured him, so intent was she in hurrying away from the spot before a crowd gathered.
A moment more and she was flying across the white stretch of beach, her pink tulle gossamer robe trailing after her like a sunset cloud which somehow had fallen from heaven to earth.
She gained the hotel by a side entrance, and was soon back into the ballroom. She had been gone so short a time that few had missed her save the partner who was just coming in search of her for his waltz, the first notes of which had just struck up.
“Alone, Miss Trevalyn!” exclaimed Ray Challoner, advancing toward the palm-embowered nook in which she had seated herself. “Why, this is unprecedented. I did not suppose you ever enjoyed the luxury of being alone; such is the penalty of having admirers by the score,” bowing low before the beauty, adding: “I beg to remind you that this is our waltz, and it is my favorite music, ‘My Queen.’”
Queenie Trevalyn arose graciously, her rosebud lips wreathed in the sweetest of smiles. She danced and laughed, the gayest of the gay, never for an instant did her thoughts revert to the heart that was enduring the agonies of death, for love of her, down upon the cold, white sands.
Ay! There he lay, stunned almost unto death, never caring to arise and face the world again. All he wanted to do was to lie there until the tide would come in and bear him away from life and the love which he had found more cruel than death.
With such a man love, with all the intensity of his grand soul, was only possible. It was not for such a one to worship lightly at a woman’s shrine.
How long he lay there he never knew. It was in reality a few moments, but to him it seemed endless centuries. He was startled by the sound of familiar voices.
“It is indeed Dinsmore, by all that is wonderful!” exclaimed a man who bent over him, while his companion said musingly: “What in the world could have happened to have felled him like this, and he strong as an ox!”