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She was there in Lucerne! his Opal! How Paul reached his room, he never knew. He was in an ecstasy his young blood surging through his veins in response to the leap of the seething passions within. Have you never felt it, Reader? If you have not, you had better lay aside this book, for you will never, never understand what followed what must follow, in the very nature of human hearts.
The cold was numbing, and neither felt the cuts and bruises. After two hours of this fatiguing labor they arrived upon a small plateau, about two thousand feet above the valley. The scene was solemn and imposing. The world seemed lying at their feet. The chateau, half hidden in the mist, sparkled like an opal. Maurice scowled at it. To the prince the vision was as reviving as a glass of wine.
The crimson fire in the opal seemed to mingle with that in his heart, and his arm lifted her during a moment from the saddle as he held her to him. But in her heart the love of him was troubled by that cold pang of loneliness which had crept upon her like a tide as the day drew near. None of her own people were waiting in that distant town to see her become his bride.
The flask became the property of Parton, and to me fell the stone, the exact hue of which I was never able to determine, since it was chameleonic in its properties. When it was placed in my hands by our "grateful patient" it was blood -red; when I looked upon it on the following morning it was of a livid, indescribable hue, yet lustrous as an opal.
There they halted, while, struggling after them, the first triumphant beam struck the bosses of their harness to glittering jewel-points, and, breaking through layer on layer of curdling vapor at their feet, suffused it to a wondrous fleece, where carnation and violet and the fire that lurks in the opal, wreathing with gorgeous involution, seethed together, until, at last, the whole resplendent mist wound itself away in silver threads on the spindles of the wind.
Slowly the colors changed, until we were in the midst of a stream of iridescent opal fires; and quite lost in the gorgeous spectacle, at length we found ourselves upon a bar. We got out and waded around in water scarcely to our ankles, feeling for a channel. The sand was hard; the bar seemed to extend across the entire river; but a thin rippling line some fifty yards ahead told us where it ended.
Oh, yes, you can come and insult me, and talk to me of love Love! The love that would make me a poor man's drudge!" Again I thrust his ring at him, the opal spitting angry blue and orange fires. I thought he would have struck at it. Heaven knows what mad instinct was at the back of his brain. I believe every man's a brute when the woman he loves defies him.
But it was the flowers that held Elizabeth mute. Anderson had brought her to a wild garden of incredible beauty. Scarlet and blue, purple and pearl and opal, rose-pink and lavender-grey the flower-field ran about her, as though Persephone herself had just risen from the shadow of this nameless northern lake, and the new earth had broken into eager flame at her feet.
Tom had called Soda-water. Soda-water, if this were he, was a man of about five-and-thirty, of middle height, fresh complexioned and of wiry build, looking more like an M. F. H., in fact, than anything else. His clothes seemed to fit well, but perhaps that was because he had a good figure. In the middle of his spacious shirt front shone a large opal, surrounded with small diamonds.
Her laugh rang loud; her song soared in wild and mocking cadence to the stars; her rigid brow wore scorn like a coronal of flame; and with a scathed nature she trod the streets of the city, mixed with its wondering crowds, made the Spark a blaze and a marvel in all lands, but hid the opal in her bosom; for its scarlet spot of life-blood had dropped away, and the jewel was broken across.
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