where the coach was waiting to take them back to Herridon.

They did not see Mark Telford before their coach left. But, standing back
in the shadow of the trees, he saw them. An hour before he had hated Hagar
and had wished that they were in some remote spot alone with pistols in
their hands. Now he could watch the two together without anger, almost
without bitterness. He had lost in the game, and he was so much the true
gamester that he could take his defeat when he knew it was defeat quietly.
Yet the new defeat was even harder on him than the old. All through the
years since he had seen her there had been the vague conviction, under all
his determination to forget, that they would meet again, and that all
might come right. That was gone, he knew, irrevocably.

"That's over," he said as he stood looking at them. "The king is dead.
Long live the king!"

He lit a cigar and watched the coach drive away, then saw the coach in
which he had come drive up also and its passengers mount. He did not stir,
but smoked on. The driver waited for some time, and when he did not come
drove away without him, to the regret of the passengers and to the
indignation of Miss Mildred Margrave, who talked much of him during the
drive back.

When they had gone, Telford rose and walked back to the ruined abbey. He
went to the spot where he had first seen Mrs. Detlor that day, then took
the path up the hillside to the place where they had stood. He took from
his pocket the ring she had given back to him, read the words inside it
slowly, and, looking at the spot where she had stood, said aloud:

"I met a man once who imagined he was married to the spirit of a woman