re,
and not upon what was past and irrevocable; which brought the colour to
her dry cheek, I thought, but I could say nothing else. And so I bowed,
and we rode away; my few belongings having gone before by carrier, all
save my violin, which I carried on the saddle before me.

Coming to the Tour D'Arthenay, we checked our horses, with a common
thought, and looked up at the old tower. It was even as I had seen it on
first arriving, save that now a clear moonlight rested on it, instead of
the doubtful twilight. The ivy was black against the white light, the
empty doorway yawned like a toothless mouth, and the round eye above
looked blindness on us. As I gazed, a white owl came from within, and
blinked at us over the curve. Yvon started, thinking it a spirit,
perhaps; but I laughed, and taking off my hat, saluted the bird.

"_Monsieur mon locataire_," I said, "I have the honour to salute you!"
and told him that he should have the castle rent free, on condition that
he spared the little birds, and levied taxes on the rats alone.

Looking back when we had ridden a little further, the tower had turned
its back on me, and all I saw was the heaps of cut stone, lying naked in
the moonlight. That was my last sight of the home of my ancestors. I had
kept faith.

CHAPTER XII.

HERE ends, my dear child, the romance of your old friend's life; if by
the word romance we may rightly understand that which, even if not
lasting itself, throws a brightness over all that may come after it. I
never saw that fair country of France again, and since then I have lived
sixty years and more; but what I brought away with me that sorrowful
night has sweetened all the years. I had the honour of loving as sweet a
lady as ever stepped from heaven to earth; and I had the thought that,
if right had permitted, and the world been other than it was, I could
have won her. Such feelings as these, my dear, keep a man's heart set on
high things, however lowly his lot may be.

I came back to my village. My own home was empty, but every house was
open to me; and not a man or a woman there but offered me a home for as
long as I would take it. My good friend Ham Belfort would have me come
to be a son to him, he having no children. But my duty, as he clearly
saw when I pointed it out, was to Abby Rock; and Abby and I were not to
part for many years. Her health was never the same after my father's
death; it was her son I was to be, and I am glad to think