winds stirred the roses. He would come. The sky might pale, the earth
darken, the sun set, the flowers sleep; but he would come. She would let
no doubt of him enter her faithful heart. Let the night shadow fall, the
sun of her love and her hope should still keep light.

And then from sky and earth, from clear river and green wood the light
of day faded--eight, nine, and ten struck--the world grew dark and
still--she kept her watch unbroken. It might be night when he returned;
but she would hear the click of the gate and be there to welcome.

Ah, me, the sorrow that gathered like a storm-cloud over the beautiful
face--the light, brightness and hope died from it as the light died from
the heavens. Still she would not yield. Even after the shadows of
evening had fallen over the land she kept her place. He would come. The
servants of the household grew alarmed at last; and one by one they
ventured in to try to persuade their young mistress to eat, to sleep, or
to rest.

To one and all she said the same thing:

"Hush, do not speak; I am listening!"

It had grown too late to see; there was no moon, and the pale light of
the stars revealed nothing; it had grown colder, too. There was a faint
sound in the wind that told of coming rain. Her own maid--more at
liberty to speak than the others--prayed her to come in; but all advice,
reason, remonstrance received the same answer:

"I must not leave this spot until the twenty-four hours are ended."

She would not have suffered half the torture had the letter arrived; she
would have known then at once that she was not to expect him; and the
ordeal of waiting would have been over at once; but she clung to the
hope he would come, he must come. She recalled his promises given
solemnly--she said to herself with a little shudder:

"If he does not come to-day he will never come."

And then she hated herself for the half-implied doubt of him. No matter
if the sun had fallen and the nightingale was singing; no matter if the
solemn hush of night had fallen, and soft, deep shadows lay around, he
would come. The sighs of the wind grew deeper; the roses drooped. She
leaned forward, for it seemed to her there was a stir among the trees;
it was only some night bird in quest of its prey. Again she bent her
head; surely, at last, there was the click of the gate. But no; it was
only the swaying of the branches in the wind.

Then clear and full and distinct, cleaving the air, rang out the hou