Tomorrow
would be time enough. But was it any longer in her power to determine
when it would be time enough? There was an expression in Nehal Singh's
face which told her that he had already decided, and that the reins
had suddenly slipped from her hands into his.
"Rajah--" she began, wildly seeking for some inspiration which would
give her back control over herself and him. But the triviality died on
her lips as the truth had died. A shrill cry broke above the dying
waltz, and the Rajah and Beatrice, startled by its piercing appeal,
turned from each other and confronted a catastrophe which
overshadowed, and for the moment obliterated, their own threatening
fate.
The dancers had already retired to the sitting-out alcoves. Only one
figure occupied the floor, and that figure was Stafford's. He was
crossing the room and had reached the center when the cry had been
uttered. The amazed and startled watchers saw Lois rush toward him and
with an incredible strength and rapidity thrust him to one side. A
second later--it scarcely seemed a second--the immense golden
chandelier crashed with a sound like thunder on to the very spot where
he had been standing. A moment's uproar and horrified confusion
ensued. The place, plunged in a half-darkness, seemed filled with dust
and flying fragments, and people hurrying backward and forward,
scarcely knowing what had happened or what had been the extent of the
accident.
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