One Day Part 17

The secret was out, at last. This, then, was the shadow that had cast its gloom over the family ever since he had come in contact with them.

It was even worse than he had thought. That she--the lovely Opal--should have to sacrifice her own honor to save her mother's!

Honor! honor! how many crimes are committed in thy name!

"Tell me about it," he said sympathetically.

And she told him, sparing herself details, as far as possible, of the storm of scandal about to burst upon the family--a storm from which only the sacrifice of herself could save the family name of Ledoux, and her mother's memory. It might, or might not, be true, but the Count de Roannes claimed to be able--and ready--to bring proof. And, if it were true, she was not a Ledoux at all, and her father was not her father at all, except in name. No breath of ill-fame had ever reached her mother's name before. They had thought she had happily escaped the curse of her mother before her. But the Count claimed to know, and--well, he wanted her--Opal--and, of course, it _was_ possible, and of course he would do anything to protect the good name of his wife, if Opal became his wife, and----

"So, you see, Paul--in the end, I shall have to--submit!"

She had not told it at all well, she thought, but Paul little cared how the story was told.

"I do not see it that way at all, Opal. It seems to me--well, diabolical, and may G.o.d help you, dear girl, when you, with your high-keyed sensitive nature, first wake to the infamy of it! I have no right to interfere--no right at all. Not even my love for you, which is stronger than myself, gives me that right. For I am betrothed! I tell you this because I see where my folly has led us. There is only one thing to do. We must part--and at once. I am sorry"--then he thought of that first meeting on board the liner, "no, I am _not_ sorry we met! I shall never be that! But I am going to be a man. I am going to do my duty. Help me, Opal--help me!"

It was the old appeal of the man to the helpmeet G.o.d had created for him, and the woman in her responded.

"Paul, I will!" and her little fingers closed over his.

"Of course he loves you--in his way, but----"

"Don't, Paul, don't! He has never once pretended that--he has been too wise."

"He will break your spirit, dear--it's his nature. And then he will break your heart!"

She raised her head, defiantly.

"Break my spirit, Paul? He could not. And as for my heart--that will never be his to break!"

Their eyes met with the old understanding that needs no words. Then she pointed to the heavens.

"See the stars, Paul, smiling down so calmly. How can they when hearts are aching? When I was a child, I loved the stars. I fancied, too, that they loved me, and I would run out under their watchful eyes, singing for very joy, sure they were guiding my life and that some day I would be happy, gloriously happy. Somehow, Paul, I always expected to be happy--always!--till now! Now the stars seem to mock me. I must have been born under a baleful conjunction, I guess. Oh, I told you, Paul, that Opals were unlucky. I warned you--didn't I warn you? I may have tempted you, too, but--I didn't mean to do it!"

"Bless your dear heart, girl, you weren't to blame!"

"But you said--that night--about the tiger----"

"Forgive me, Opal, I was not myself. I was--excited. I didn't mean that."

After a moment, she said, musingly, "It is just as I said, Paul. I was born to go to the devil, so it is well--well for you, I mean--and perhaps for me--that you and I cannot marry." He shook his head, but she went on, unheeding. "Paul, if I am destined to be a disgrace to someone--and they say I am--I'd rather bring reproach upon his name than on yours!"

"But why marry at all, if you feel like that? Why, it's--it's d.a.m.nable!"

"Don't you see, Paul, I am foreordained to evil--marked a bad woman from the cradle! Marriage is the only salvation, you know, for girls with my inheritance. It's the sanctuary that keeps a woman good and 'happy ever after.'"

"It would be more apt, in my opinion, to drive one to forbidden wine! A marriage like that, I mean--for one like you."

"But at least a married woman has a _name_--whatever she may do.

She's--protected. She isn't----"

But Paul would hear no more.

"Opal, _we_ were made for each other from the beginning--surely we were.

Some imp has slipped into the scheme of things somewhere and turned it upside down."

He paused. She looked up searchingly into his eyes.

"Paul, do you love me?"

"Yes, dearest!"

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as I am of my own existence! With all my heart, Opal--with all my soul!"

"Then we mustn't see each other any more!"

"Not any more. You are right, Opal, not any more!"

"But what shall we do, Paul? We shall be sure to meet often. You expect to stay the summer through, do you not? And we are not going to New Orleans for several weeks yet--and then?"

"We are going West, Father Paul and I--out on the prairies to rough it for a while. We were going before long, anyway, and a few weeks sooner or later won't make any difference. And then--home, back over the sea again, to face life, to work, to try to be--strong, I suppose."

Paul paused and looked at her pa.s.sionately.

"Why are you so alluring to-night, Opal?"

Her whole body quivered, caught fire from the flame in his eyes. What was there about this man that made her always so conscious she was a woman? Why could she never be calm in his presence, but was always so fated to _feel, feel, feel!_

Her voice trembled as she looked up at him and answered, "Am I wicked, Paul? I wanted to be happy to-night--just for to-night! I wanted to forget the fate that was staring me so relentlessly in the face. But--I couldn't, Paul!"

Then she glanced through the curtains into the ballroom and shuddered.

"The Count is looking for me," she said. The Boy winced, and she went on rapidly, excitedly. "We must part. As well now as any time, I suppose, since it has to be. But first, Paul, let me say it once--just once--_I love you!_"

He s.n.a.t.c.hed her to him--G.o.d! that any one else should ever have the right!

"And I--worship you, Opal! Even that seems a weak word, to-night.

But--you understand, don't you? I didn't know at sea whether it was love or what it was that had seized me as nothing ever had before. But I know now! And listen, Opal--this isn't a vow, nor anything of that kind--but I feel that I want to say it. I shall always love you just this way--always--I feel it, I know it!--as long as I live! Will you remember, darling?--remember--everything?"

"Yes--yes! And you, Paul?"

"Till death!" And his lips held hers, regardless of ten thousand Counts and their claims upon her caresses.

And they clung together again in the anguish of parting that comes at some time, or another into the lives of all who know love.

Then like mourners walking away from the graves of their loved ones, they returned to the ballroom, with the dull ache of buried happiness in their hearts.