That last good-by lasted an hour, Chad walking his horse all the while
before the porch door, until that tottering figure, holding to the
railings and steadying itself, came down the steps.

A shutter thrown back, and Nancy at the open window watching him mount.

As he wheels he raises his hat. She pushes aside the climbing roses.

In an instant he has cleared the garden beds, and has reined in his
horse just below her window-sill. Looking up into her face:--

"Nancy, for the last time, shall I stay?"

She only shakes her head.

"Then look, Nancy, look! This is your work!"

A gleam of steel in a clenched hand, a burst of smoke, and before Chad
can reach him Nancy's lover lies dead in the flowers at her feet.

It had not been an easy story for the colonel. When he ceased he passed
his hand across his forehead as if the air of the room stifled him.
Then laying down his pipe, he bent once more over the slender vase,
his face in the roses.

* * * * *

"May I come in?"