a most
violent hatred of the man and the many injuries I had received from
him, and the attempt to save the bridge foremost in my mind, I found
excuse for lack of the finer feelings. And, too, what would it benefit
had he been saved? His life was spent in debauchery, the gambling
table and plots to overthrow any government where a leader in
opposition to the ruling power would promise him a political office.

Deep down in my heart I felt the weight of the past; those shrieking
winds of the night were the responsive echoes of my soul for the
loved and lost. Was it upon this planet or upon some distant sphere
that we two had met and loved and builded hopes as high as the lofty
peaks that now entombed me--hope and love that may have been breathed
in the morning of the world when the spirit of God dwelt within
us--hope that existed before the wrathful change that shattered all
and turned an Eden into blackness and despair?

Days, weeks and months passed. Often I would spend hours in the wild
solitudes hunting the vicuna and alpaca, or in some gloomy canyon
communing with myself. Within my spirit I could hear an undertone,
"Why cast thyself on waters wild, believing that God is gone, that
love is dead and Nature spurns her child?" So, from my grief, I arose
at length to feel new life returning. New hopes and ambitions sprang
forth in my soul that had so keenly felt God's chastening rod.

A year had passed. I was in Arequipa. Chico had my room ready and my
friends gave me a splendid banquet in one of the largest restaurants
in the city. In all ages the world has had two ways of doing honor to
a man. One is by parade, the other by setting him down to a banquet
table and making speeches about him until they overcrowd his emotions
and leave him limp and speechless. I had to pass through this ordeal.
The Prefectos of Arequipa and Puno, the Commanding General of the
Government troops, the manager and officials of the railway and a host
of friends of lesser note, but none the less loyal hearts, crowded the
banquet room. They feasted, drank wine, sang songs and made speeches
to me and about me that were enough to have satisfied the vanity of a
survivor of Thermopylae. At the close, the Prefecto of Puno arose, and
after saying things that were loudly applauded, presented me with ten
thousand dollars not as a gift, but as something I had justly earned.
He was followed by the general manager of the railroad, who said his
company de