s being married. Margarita, in her
graceful, faded blue gown, gazed curiously at him, one hand in
Roger's; the noon sun streamed down on us from a cloudless, turquoise
sky; the little waves ran up the points of rocks, broke, and fell away
musically.

To appreciate those quaint sentences of the marriage service, you must
hear them out under the heavens, alone, with no bridesmaids, no voice
that breathed o'er Eden, no flowers but the great handful of flaming
nasturtiums Roger had put in her hands (no maiden lilies grew on that
rock!) and a quiet man dressed just as other men are dressed, with
only the consciousness of his calling to separate him from the rest of
us. They held their own, those quaint old phrases, I assure you! But
it was then I learned to respect them.

Nevertheless, Roger _had_ forgotten something.

"Where's the ring?" the telegraph operator motioned to me with his
lips. His tired eyes expressed a mild interest. I saw Roger's lips
purse; for a moment his eyes left Margarita's face and I knew that he
had just remembered it. I looked down vaguely, and my eyes fell upon
the worn, thin band on my little finger--my mother's mother's
wedding-ring. In one of those lightning flashes of memory I saw
myself, a lad again, starting for college, and my mother putting it on
my finger.

"She was the best woman, I believe, that ever lived, Jerry--I took it
when she died. I want you to wear it, and perhaps you will think--oh,
my darling! I know it is hard to be a good man, but will you try?"

My dear, dear mother! I think I tried--I hope so.

I slipped it from my finger--I had taken it off sometimes, but never
for so good a reason--and pressed it into Roger's hand. He accepted it
as unconsciously as if it had come from heaven--and it was my ring
that married Margarita.

CHAPTER XII

I LEAVE EDEN

[Illustration: I SEEM TO SEE ... A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN A BLUE DRESS
SITTING UNDER A FRUIT TREE]

Clear as I am on a thousand little points that concern my first
meeting with Margarita, my mind is a perfect blank when I try to
recall the events of the next half hour. We must, of course, have left
the rock, for I have a dim recollection of drinking healths in that
dear old room and signing our names to something. But on what order we
left it, of what we spoke, if we spoke at all, and how we at last
found ourselves alone, I do not know. And yet it seems to me that some
one--was it I?--discussed remedies for inso