Can claim a place within my heart;
It may be that you do forget,
And think it is the same with me,
That olden love is dead, and yet
We once both said it could ne’er be!”
When Queenie found herself alone, after the departure of Raymond Challoner, she gave full vent to the bitter grief she had kept pent up in her breast, upon learning from him of the death of the only man whom she had ever loved, though the knowledge of that love had come to her too late.
She could hardly bring herself to believe he was really dead, lying a mass of charred remains, he who had been such a strong, active, handsome man but a few short weeks ago. How could fate have severed the golden cord of his noble existence at the very height of his success and glorious fame!
She brushed at length the burning tear drops from her eyes, muttering:
“If he is indeed dead, then my past and my future are dead—there is no hope of happiness for me hereafter.”
But even in the midst of her grief she realized that the worst possible thing that she could do would be to give way to it so utterly.