At last—­it was towards midnight—­she yielded to the force that compelled.  Against her will she unfolded the shielding paper and held that which it contained upon the palm of her hand.  Burning rubies, red as heart’s blood, ardent as flame, flashed and glinted in the lamp-light.  “OMNIA VINCIT AMOR”—­how the words scorched her memory!  And she had wondered once if they were true!

She knew now!  She knew now!  He had forced her to realise it.  He had captured her, had kindled within her—­by what magic she knew not—­the undying Against her will, in spite of her utmost resistance, he had done this thing.  Above and beyond and through her fiercest hatred, he had conquered her quivering heart.  He had let her go again, but not till he had blasted her happiness for ever.  None other could ever dominate her as this man dominated.  None other could ever kindle in her—­or ever quench—­the torch that this man’s hand had lighted.

And this was Love—­this hunger that could never be satisfied, this craving which would not be stifled or ignored—­Love triumphant, invincible, immortal—­the thing she had striven to slay at its birth, but which had lived on in spite of her, growing, spreading, enveloping, till she was lost, till she was suffocated, in its immensity.  There could never be any escape for her again.  She was fettered hand and foot.  It was useless any longer to strive.  She stood and faced the truth.

She did not ask herself how it was she had ever come to care.  She only numbly realised that she had always cared.  And she knew now that to no woman is it given so to hate as she had hated without the spur of Love goading her thereto.  Ah, but Love was cruel!

Love was merciless!  For she had never known—­nor ever could know now—­the ecstasy of Love.  Truly, it conquered; but it left its prisoners to perish of starvation in the wilderness.

A slight sound in the midnight silence!  A timid hand softly trying the door-handle!  She sprang up, dropping the ring upon her table, and turned to see Olga in her nightdress, standing in the doorway.

“I was awake,” the child explained tremulously.  “And I heard you moving.  And I wondered, dear Muriel, if perhaps I could do anything to help you.  You—­you don’t mind?”

Muriel opened her arms impulsively.  She felt as if Olga had been sent to lighten her darkest hour.

For a while she held her close, not speaking at all; and it was Olga who at last broke the silence.

“Darling, are you crying for Captain Grange?”

She raised her head then to meet the child’s gaze of tearful sympathy.

“I am not crying, dear,” she said.  “And—­it wouldn’t be for him if I were.  I don’t want to cry for him.  I just envy him, that’s all.”

She leaned her head against Olga’s shoulder, rocking a little to and fro with closed eyes.  “Yes,” she said at last, “you can help me, Olga, if you will.  That ring on the table, dear,—­a ring with rubies—­do you see it?”