powers and work aright. And her pledge, her compact with the
Divine, was to help him, to guide him back into the faith from
which he had wandered. Outside of prayer, days and nights at his
bedside had made him hers: vigils, nursing, suffering,
helplessness, dependence--all these had been as purest oil to that
alabaster lamp of love which burned within her chaste soul.

The sun had gone down. The hush of twilight was descending from the
clear sky, in the depths of which the brightest stars began to
appear as points of silvery flame. The air had the balm of early
summer, the ground was dry and warm.

Gabriella began to watch. The last time she had gone to see him, as
he walked part of the way back with her, he had said:--

"I am well now; the next time _I_ am coming to see YOU."

Soon, along the edge of the orchard from the direction of the
house, she saw him walking slowly toward her, thin, gaunt; he was
leaning on a rough, stout hickory, as long as himself, in the
manner of an old man.

She rose quickly and hastened to him. "Did you walk?"

"I rode. But I am walking now--barely. This young tree is
escorting me."

They went back to her shawl, which she opened and spread, making a
place for him. She moved it back a little, for safety, so that it
was under the boughs of one of the trees.