ed to smile. Then as his
eyes went back, irresistibly, to the other, a light that was wonderful
to see dawned and grew in them. I shall never forget him as he stood,
handsome and fearless, a gentleman still, despite his years of wandering
and adventure, and in this supreme moment unselfish. The wilful,
masterful boy had become a man at last.

He started forward, stopped, trembling with a shock of remembrance, and
gave back again.

"You cannot come," he said; "I cannot let you take this risk. Tell her
she cannot come, Madame," he said to Helene. "For the love of God send
her home again."

But there were forces which even Helene could not stem. He had turned to
go back, he had seized the door, but Antoinette was before him. Custom
does not weigh at such a time. Had she not read his avowal? She had his
hand in hers, heedless of us who watched. At first he sought to free
himself, but she clung to it with all the strength of her love,--yet she
did not look up at him.

"I will come with you," she said in a low voice, "I will come with you,
Nick."

How quaintly she spoke his name, and gently, and timidly--ay, and with
a supreme courage. True to him through all those numb years of waiting,
this was a little thing--that they should face death together. A little
thing, and yet the greatest joy that God can bestow upon a good woman.
He looked down at her with a great tenderness, he spoke her name, and I
knew that he had taken her at last into his arms.

"Come," he said.

They went in together, and the doors closed behind them.

* * * * * * *

Antoinette's maid was on the step, and the Vicomtesse and I were alone
once more in the little parlor. I remember well the sense of unreality
I had, and how it troubled me. I remember how what I had seen and heard
was turning, turning in my mind. Nick had come back to Antoinette. They
were together in that room, and Mrs. Temple was dying--dying. No, it
could not be so. Again, I was in the garden at Les Iles on a night that
was all perfume, and I saw the flowers all ghostly white under the moon.
And then, suddenly, I was watching the green candle sputter, and out of
the stillness came a cry--the sereno calling the hour of the night. How
my head throbbed! It was keeping time to some rhythm, I knew not what.
Yes, it was the song my father used to sing:--

"I've faught on land? I've faught at sea,
At hume I've faught my aunty, O!"

But New Orleans was hot, b