XVI.

Last night as I stood in the gloaming's gray, Ere the moon came into the sky, He came to me for a last good-bye— At last he is going away.

His face in the dusk showed stern and set, Old and haggard and worn with pain; "Dear, I may never see you again— Mine but the meed regret! How can I ask you to share my shame, How can I give you my blemished name, Yet how shall the heart forget?

Naught in my life save a dream have I, A dream—a vision, too fair to be, A rose that blooms 'mid the rue for me— Naught but a dream ... Good-bye."

And then, ere he lifted his bridle rein To ride away down the dark'ning land, He bent and touched with his lips the hand I had laid on the chestnut's mane.