oved, turned,
the sound of his voice, the touch of his hand as it tightened in hers
when he lay there at sunset, while she and Death watched the color
fading from his face.

But now--now that he was living--here in this same world with her
again--strive as she would she could neither fix either his features nor
the sound of his voice upon her memory. Only the stupefying wonder of it
possessed her, dulling her senses so that even the happiness of it
seemed unreal.

* * * * *

How would they meet?--they two, who had never met but thrice? How would
they seem, each to the other, when first their eyes encountered?

In all their lives they had exchanged so little speech! Yet from the
first--from the first moment, when she had raised her gaze to him as he
entered in his long, blue cloak, her silence had held a deeper meaning
than her speech. And on that blessed night instinct broke the silence;
yet, with every formal word exchanged, consciousness of the occult bond
between them grew.

But it was not until she thought him dead that she understood that it
had been love--love unheralded, unexpected, incredible--love at the
first confronting, the first encountering glance. And to the memory of
that mystery she had been faithful from the night on which she believed
he died.

How had it been with him throughout these years? _How had it been with
him?_

The silvery trumpets of the cavalry were still sounding as she mounted
her horse before the colonel's tent and rode out into the splendour of
the setting sun.

On every side cavalrymen were setting toe to stirrup; troop after troop,
forming by fours, trotted out to the crest of the hill where the Western
light lay red across the furrowed grass.

A blaze of brilliant color filled the road where an incoming Zouave
regiment had halted, unslinging knapsacks, preparing to encamp, and the
setting sun played over them in waves of fire, striking fiercely across
their crimson fezzes and trousers.

Through their gorgeous lines the cavalry rode, colonel and staff
leading; and with them rode the Special Messenger, knee to knee with the
chief trumpeter, who made his horse dance when he passed the gorgeous
Zouave color guard, to show off the gridiron of yellow slashings across
his corded and tasseled breast.

And now another infantry regiment blocked the way--a heavy, blue column
tramping in with its field music playing and both flags flying i