s no one
from her; not in that way was Nina to communicate with him, if her hopes
for the future, her forgiveness for what lay in the past, were to reach
him at all. He drew a chair to the table and sat down, leaving the
letters unheeded.

The slow minutes passed; his thoughts went wandering over the world,
seeking for what they could not find. And how was he to call to Nina
across the black gulf of the night, wheresoever she might be? Suddenly
there leaped into his recollection an old German ballad he used to sing.
It was that of the three comrades who were wont to drink together, until
one died, and another died, and nevertheless the solitary survivor kept
the accustomed tryst, and still, sitting there alone, he had the three
glasses filled, and still he sang aloud, "_Aus voller Brust._" There
came an evening; as he filled the cups, a tear fell into his own; yet
bravely he called to his ghostly companions, "I drink to you, my
brothers--but why are you so mute and still?" And behold! the glasses
clinked together; and the wine was slowly drunk out of all the three,
"_Fiducit! du wackerer Zecher!_"--it was the loyal comrade's last
draught. And now Lionel, hardly knowing what he was doing--for there
were such wild desires and longings in his brain--went to a small
cabinet hard by and brought forth the loving-cup he had given to Nina.
They two were the last who had drunk out of it. And if now, if once
again, on this last night of all the nights of the year, he were to
repeat his challenge, would she not know? He cared not in what form she
might appear--Nina could not be other than gentle--silent she might be,
but surely her eyes would shine with kindness and forgiveness. He was
not aware of it, but his fingers were trembling as he took the cup in
twain, and put the two tiny goblets on the table and filled them with
wine. Nay, in a sort of half-dazed fashion he went and opened the door
and left it wide--might there not be some shadowy footfall on the empty
stair! He returned to the table and sat down; it was almost twelve; he
was shivering a little--the night was cold.

All around him the silence appeared to grow more profound; there was
only the ticking of a clock. As minute after minute passed, the suspense
became almost unendurable; something seemed to be choking him; and yet
his eyes would furtively and nervously wander from the small goblets
before him to the open door, as if he expected some vision to present
itself