"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.