of my interests: and, _I could meet you_, my friend. That is, I could
if you were willing. Would you be? Would you welcome me if I came one
day to the gate of the little garden, and begged, 'Dear Hermit of the
Mirador, will you give a poor tired traveler lunch in your pergola?'

"You see now that the legacy is only an excuse. I confess it. I
shouldn't go to California just to straighten out things at the oil
fields--no, not even if I lost the property by not going. But to see my
friend who has given me back life, and love in the sweetness of memory
and hope of future usefulness, I would travel with joy across the whole
world instead of half.

"I know you refused to send your photograph, because I 'might be
disillusioned.' But I _couldn't_ be disillusioned, because there's no
illusion. Do I care what your looks may be? If you are ugly, I'm sure
it's a beautiful, brave ugliness. Anyhow, _I_ should think it so.
Please, therefore, don't put me off for any such reason as you gave
about the photograph. It isn't really worthy of you, or even of me. Let
us dare to be frank with each other. I've told you how much I want to
see you and what it would mean to me. In return you must tell me
whether you want me to come, or whether, because of some _real_ reason
(which you may or may not choose to explain) you wish me to stay away.

"When you get this, there will be only time to telegraph to--Yours ever
in unbreakable friendship, Barbara Denin."

PART III

BEYOND THE MILESTONES

CHAPTER XVI

There was a great wind wailing over the sea, on the day that Barbara's
letter was brought to Denin. The wind seemed to come from the four
corners of the earth, laden with all the stormy sorrow of the world
since men and women first loved and lost each other. The voice was old
as death and young as life, and the heartbreak of unending processions
of lovers was the message it brought to the Mirador garden. Denin knew
because he had heard through the fire-music of life, that there was
another voice and another message for those who would listen. He knew
that higher than tragedy rang the notes of endless triumph; that the
message of love went on forever beyond the break of the note of loss.
He knew the lesson he had so hardly taught himself and Barbara: that
happiness is stronger than sorrow, as all things positive are stronger
than all negative things. But the big truths of the universe were too
big for him that day. The though