d fro as the spent waves rocked
it, was Beatrice's canoe.

Sadly, hopelessly, heavily, Geoffrey waded knee deep into the water, and
catching the bow of the canoe, dragged it ashore. There was, or appeared
to be, nothing in it; of course he could not expect anything else. Its
occupant had sunk and been carried out to sea by the ebb, whereas the
canoe had drifted back to shore with the morning tide.

He reared it upon its end to let the water drain out of it, and from the
hollow of the bow arch something came rolling down, something bright and
heavy, followed by a brown object. Hastily he lowered the canoe again,
and picked up the bright trinket. It was his own ring come back to
him--the Roman ring he had given Beatrice, and which she told him in the
letter she would wear in her hour of death. He touched it with his lips
and placed it back upon his hand, this token from the beloved dead,
vowing that it should never leave his hand in life, and that after death
it should be buried on him. And so it will be, perhaps to be dug up
again thousands of years hence, and once more to play a part in the
romance of unborn ages.

_Ave atque vale_--that was the inscription rudely cut within its
round. Greeting and farewell--her own last words to him. Oh, Beatrice,
Beatrice! to you also _ave atque vale_. You could not have sent a fitter
message. Greeting and farewell! Did it not sum it all? Within the circle
of this little ring was writ the epitome of human life: here were the
beginning and the end of Love and Hate, of Hope and fear, of Joy and
Sorrow.

Beatrice, hail! Beatrice, farewell! till perchance a Spirit rushing
earthward shall cry "_Greeting_," in another tongue, and Death,
descending to his own place, shaking from his wings the dew of tears,
shall answer "_Farewell to me and Night, ye Children of Eternal Day!_"

And what was this other relic? He lifted it--it was Beatrice's tennis
shoe, washed from her foot--Geoffrey knew it, for once he had tied it.

Then Geoffrey broke down--it was too much. He threw himself upon the
great rock and sobbed--that rock where he had sat with her and Heaven
had opened to their sight. But men are not given to such exhibitions of
emotion, and fortunately for him the paroxysm did not last. He could not
have borne it for long.

He rose and went again to the edge of the sea. At this moment old Edward
and his son arrived. Geoffrey pointed to the boat, then held up the
little shoe.

"Ah," said