seaward, till a vessel's hull sank below the horizon.

How many fair women, through the pitiless years, have thus stood -
looking seaward! Once more the envious Fates prevailed. Unknown to his
sweetheart, Rezanov died on the overland journey from Okhotsk to St.
Petersburg, in a little town in the snows of central Siberia. With a
woman's instinctive and unyielding faith, the beautiful girl waited and
watched for his return, waited the long and dreary years till the roses
of youth faded from her cheeks. True heart, no other voice could reach
her ear! Dead to all allurement, she first joined a secular order,
"dedicating her life to the instructions of the young and the
consolation of the sick," and finally entered the Dominican sisterhood,
where she gave the remainder of her life to the heroic and self-effacing
service of her order. Not until late in life did she have the
consolation of learning - and then quite by accident - that her lover
had not been false to her, but had died of a fall from his horse on his
mission to win her. Long years afterward she died, in 1857, at the
convent of St. Catherine; and today, while he sleeps beneath a Greek
cross in the wilds of Siberia, she is at rest beneath a Roman cross in
the little Dominican cemetery at Benicia, across the Bay[13].

This history is true. These old walls were witnesses to part of it.
These hills and dales were part of the setting for their love-drama. One
picnic was taken by boat to what is now called the Island of Belvedere
yonder. One horseback outing was taken to the picturesque canon of San
Andres, so named by Captain Rivera and Father Palou in 1774. Gertrude
Atherton has given us the novel, and Bret Harte has sung the poem,
founded upon it[14].

When we think of the love stories that have survived the ages, Alexander