opposite side of
the street, rose before him. Its yellow walls now were white and
ghostlike. In the moonlight it glistened like a palace of frosted
silver. The palace was asleep, and in the garden not a leaf stirred.
The harbor breeze had died, and the great fronds of the palms, like
rigid and glittering sword-blades, were clear-cut against the stars.
The boulevard in which he sat stretched its great length, empty and
silent. And Miramar seemed a dream palace set in a dream world, a
world filled with strange, intangible people, intent on strange,
fantastic plots. To Roddy the father, who the day before had cast him
off, seemed unreal; the old man buried in a living sepulchre, and for
whom in a few hours he might lose his life, was unreal; as unreal as
the idea that he might lose his life. In all the little world about
him there was nothing real, nothing that counted, nothing living and
actual, save the girl asleep in the palace of frosted silver and his
love for her.

His love for her made the fact that he was without money, and with no
profession, talent or bread-and-butter knowledge that would serve to
keep even himself alive, a matter of no consequence. It made the
thought that Inez was promised to another man equally unimportant. The
only fact was his love for her, and of that he could not doubt the
outcome. He could not believe God had brought into his life such
happiness only to take it from him.

When he woke the next morning the necessity of seeing Inez again and
at once was imperative. Since she had left him the afternoon before,
in the garden of Mrs. Broughton, she had entirely occupied his
thoughts. Until he saw her he could enjoy no peace. Against the
circumstances that kept them apart he chafed and rebelled. He
considered it would be some comfort, at least, to revisit the spot
where he last had spoken with her, and where from pity or a desire to
spare him she had let him tell her he loved her.

The unusual moment at which he made his call did not seem to surprise
Mrs. Broughton. It was almost as though she were expecting him.

"My reason for coming at this absurd hour," began Roddy in some
embarrassment, "is to apologize for running away yesterday without
wishing you 'good-by.' I suddenly remembered----"

The young matron stopped him with a frown.

"I am disappointed, Roddy," she interrupted, "and hurt. If you
distrust me, if you won't confide in an old friend no matter how much
she may wish to help