childlike fear and trouble in them; your jewels glittered on you as
you trembled, and I refused. In my pride, or rather in my weakness and
cowardice, I refused. I came away and broke my heart among these rocks
and ledges, yet grew strong; and you, my love, YOU, sheltered and
guarded by those you loved, YOU"--He stopped and buried his face in his
hands. The night wind breathed down the chimney, and from the stirred
ashes on the hearth came the soft whisper, "I died."

"And then," he went on, "I cared for nothing. Sometimes my heart awoke
for this young partner of mine in his innocent, trustful love for a girl
that even in her humble station was far beyond his hopes, and I pitied
myself in him. Home, fortune, friends, I no longer cared for--all were
forgotten. And now they are returning to me--only that I may see the
hollowness and vanity of them, and taste the bitterness for which I
have sacrificed you. And here, on this last night of my exile, I
am confronted with only the jealousy, the doubt, the meanness and
selfishness that is to come. Too late! Too late!"

The wondering, troubled eyes that had looked into his here appeared to
clear and brighten with a sweet prescience. Was it the wind moaning in
the chimney that seemed to whisper to him: "Too late, beloved, for ME,
but not for you. I died, but Love still lives. Be happy, Philip. And in
your happiness I too may live again"?

He started. In the flickering firelight the chair was empty. The wind
that had swept down the chimney had stirred the ashes with a sound like
the passage of a rustling skirt. There was a chill in the air and a
smell like that of opened earth. A nervous shiver passed over him. Then
he sat upright. There was no mistake; it was no superstitious fancy,
but a faint, damp current of air was actually flowing across his feet