ones I had. And now by accident, by
sickness, and by the sword, they were dead the three of them, and I was
desolate.

Ah! we think much of the sorrows of our youth, and should a sweetheart
give us the go by we fill the world with moans and swear that it holds
no comfort for us. But when we bend our heads before the shrouded shape
of some lost child, then it is that for the first time we learn how
terrible grief can be. Time, they tell us, will bring consolation,
but it is false, for such sorrows time has no salves--I say it who am
old--as they are so they shall be. There is no hope but faith, there is
no comfort save in the truth that love which might have withered on the
earth grows fastest in the tomb, to flower gloriously in heaven; that no
love indeed can be perfect till God sanctifies and completes it with His
seal of death.

I threw myself down there upon the desolate snows of Xaca, that none had
trod before, and wept such tears as a man may weep but once in his life
days.

'O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for
thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!' I cried with the ancient king--I whose
grief was greater than his, for had I not lost three sons within as many
years? Then remembering that as this king had gone to join his son
long centuries ago, so I must one day go to join mine, and taking such
comfort from the thought as may be found in it, I rose and crept back to
the ruined City of Pines.

It was near sunset when I came thither, for the road was long and I grew
weak. By the palace I met the Captain Diaz and some of his company, and
they lifted their bonnets to me as I went by, for they had respect for
my sorrows. Only Diaz spoke, saying:

'Is the murderer dead?'

I nodded and went on. I went on to our chamber, for there I thought that
I should find Otomie.

She sat in it alone, cold and beautiful as though she had been fashioned
in marble.

'I have buried him with the bones of his brethren and his forefathers,'
she said, answering the question that my eyes asked. 'It seemed best
that you should see him no more, lest your heart should break.'

'It is well,' I answered; 'but my heart is broken already.'

'Is the murderer dead?' she said presently in the very words of Diaz.

'He is dead.'

'How?'

I told her in few words.

'You should have slain him yourself; our son's blood is not avenged.'

'I should have slain him, but in that hour I did not seek vengeance, I
watc