bitter victory more disastrous than defeat.

He put the memory from him and thought of Rosemary--the child with the
morning light in her eyes, the innocence of the morning in her soul. How
tenderly she had spoken of Rosa Mundi! How sweetly she had pleaded her
cause! With what amazing intuition had she understood! Something that
was greater than pity welled up within him. Rosa Mundi's guardian angel
had somehow reached his heart.

People were pouring into the place. He saw that it was going to be
packed. And outside, lining the whole length of the Pier, they were
waiting for her too, waiting to strew her path with, roses.

Ah! she was coming! Above the wash of the sea there rose a roar of
voices. They were giving her the homage of a queen. He listened to the
frantic cheering, and again it was Rosa Mundi, splendid and brilliant,
who filled his thoughts as she filled the thoughts of all just then.

The cheering died down, and there came a great press of people into the
back of the building. The lights were lowered, but he heard the
movement, the buzz of a delighted crowd.

Suddenly the orchestra burst into loud music. They were playing "Queen
of the Earth," he remembered later. The curtain went up. And in a blaze
of light he saw Rosa Mundi.

Something within him sprang into quivering life. Something which till
that moment he had never known awoke and gripped him with a force
gigantic. She was robed in shimmering, transparent gold--a queen-woman,
slight indeed, dainty, fairy-like--yet magnificent. Over her head,