--yet I pitied him the more for that.

"Tell her," he whispered, "tell her, when she shall have forgotten
this--as I hope she will--that for this hour at least I loved her;
that losing her I am liable to love her long,--so we shall never meet
again. I shall never cease to be grateful to the Providence that threw
you in my way--after to-night. To-night I could curse it and my
conscience with a right good will." With an effort he straightened
himself. "You can afford to forgive me," he said, "for I--I envy you
with all my heart."--And he was gone.

I heard his voice as he spoke to the waiter outside. I listened to his
step as he descended the stairs. He had passed out of our life
forever.

That was years ago.

She has long been dead.

He was not to blame if the sunshine that danced in music out of the
eyes of the woman I loved never quite came back again. We were, all
the same, happy together in our way.

He was not to blame if it was written in the big book of Fate that it
should be his heart, and not mine, that should read the song she bore
in her soul.

Something must be sacrificed for Art. We sacrificed our first
illusions--and the Song he read will sing on when even Rodriguez is
but a tradition.

X

EPILOGUE

ADIEU

HOW WE WENT OUT OF THE GARDEN

The last word had hardly been uttered when the Youngster, who had been
fidgeting, leaped to his feet.

"Hark!" he cried.

We all listened.

"Cannon," he yelled, and rushed out to the big gate, which he tore
open, and dashed into the road.

There was no doubt of it. Off to the north we could all hear the dull
far-off booming of artillery.

We followed into the garden.

The Youngster was in the middle of the road. As we joined him he bent
toward the ground, as if, Indian-like, he could hear better. "Hush,"
he said in a whisper, as we all began to talk. "Hush! I hear horses."

There was a dead silence, and in it, we could hear the pounding of
horses' hoofs in the valley.

"Better come in out of the rain," said the Doctor, and we obeyed. Once
inside the gate the Doctor said, "Well, I reckon it is to-morrow at
the latest for us. The truth of the matter is: I kept something from
you this evening. The village was drummed out last night. As this road
is being kept clear, no one passed here, and as we were ready to start
at a moment's notice, I made up my mind to have one more evening.
However, we've time enough. They can't advance to-night. Too