tonishment, at the hacienda, that another
year had taken us as far as the tenth day of March, I had greatly
doubted if we should find Captain Harris still waiting for us. But
there he was; and he had not even put himself to the trouble of
becoming uneasy about us.

As he himself put it that night in the cabin, over a bottle of wine, he
"didn't know but what the senora had decided to take the Andes home for
a mantel ornament, and was engaged in the little matter of
transportation."

But when I informed him that "the senora" was no more, his face grew
sober with genuine regret and sorrow. He had many good things to say
of her then; it appeared that she had really touched his salty old
heart.

"She was a gentle lady," said the worthy captain; and I smiled to think
how Desiree herself would have smiled at such a characterization of the
great Le Mire.

We at once made for San Francisco. There, at a loss, I disposed of the
remainder of the term of the lease on the yacht, and we took the first
train for the East.

Four days later we were in New York, after a journey saddened by
thoughts of the one who had left us to return alone.

It was, in fact, many months before the shadow of Desiree ceased to
hover about the dark old mansion on lower Fifth Avenue, incongruous
enough among the ancient halls and portraits of Lamars dead and gone in
a day when La Marana herself had darted like a meteor into the hearts
of their contemporaries.

That is, I suppose, properly the end of the story; but I cannot refrain
from the opportunity to record a curious incident that has just
befallen me. Some twenty minutes ago, as I was writing the last
paragraph--I am seated in the library before a massive mahogany table,
close to a window through which the September sun sends its golden
rays--twenty minutes ago, as I say, Harry sauntered into the room and
threw himself lazily into a large armchair on the other side of the
table.

I looked up with a nod of greeting, while he sat and eyed me
impatiently for some seconds.

"Aren't you coming with me down to Southampton?" he asked finally.

"What time do you leave?" I inquired, without looking up.

"Eleven-thirty."

"What's on?"

"Freddie Marston's Crocodiles and the Blues. It's going to be some
polo."

I considered a moment. "Why, I guess I'll run down with you. I'm
about through here."

"Good enough!" Harry arose to his feet and began idly fingering some of
the sheets on th