urned and drove away, however, he wondered if
he ought to have called her "miss." To be sure, she had the air of a
girl; but her manner was grave. He didn't know one sort of mourning
from another; but being a foreigner like as not she was one of them war
widows over there.

The tall young woman walked fast at first, as if she were in a hurry.
Through the dark fog of her veil she looked at everything, gazing at
each tree as if she recognized it, and at each flowering creeper that
flooded the wall of the "Fay place" with color. She passed the main
gateway, and went on without hesitation; but as she came near the small
gate of the Mirador garden, her pace slackened. She moved very slowly;
then fast again; and just outside the gate she stopped, the bosom of
her black dress rising and falling as if she were out of breath. It was
as though she were afraid to go in at the gate. But after a minute of
breathing hard she recovered herself, and opened it, almost
noiselessly.

The path on the other side was arched over with pepper trees. The woman
in black closed the gate and latched it very gently, almost tenderly. A
few berries, like beads of pink coral from a child's necklace, lay on
the old gold of the path. She tiptoed along to avoid treading on them.
Presently the path was interrupted by a short flight of old brick
steps, and at the top it went on again. In a moment the little pink
house was in sight, backed by a great jade-green olive tree, touched
with silver in the slanting light of afternoon. The garden was a lovely
riot of flowers. It looked sweet and welcoming, with an old-fashioned
welcome, but no one was there.

The woman's heart beat, then missed a beat. She threw back her veil,
and her face shone out white and beautiful as the moon shines suddenly
through a torn black cloud. It was the face of a girl, but the eyes
were the eyes of a woman. They wandered over the garden, then focussed
on the house. The open windows were curtainless. There were no chairs
under the balcony which gave a shady roof to the front door. Instead, a
few odds and ends of broken crockery and disorderly wisps of straw lay
scattered here and there. Despite the welcoming charm of the garden,
there was an air of desolation about the place, which struck at the
woman's heart. Hesitating no longer, she walked quickly up the path,
and paused only at the open door of the little pink house.

Even there she stopped only for a few seconds. The room ins