A wild sweetness filled the air. I was quite half a mile from the inn,
yet I could smell the odor of her roses, Gretchen's roses. It was a
long and weary year which had intervened. And now she was there, only
a short way from my arms. But she did not know that I was coming. A
million diamonds sprang into the air whenever I struck the lush grasses
with my cane. Everywhere I breathed the perfume of her roses. They
seemed to hide along the hedges, to lurk among the bushes, red roses
and white. On the hill, across the valley, I saw the little cemetery
with its white stones. I arrested my steps and took off my hat. The
dust of Hillars lay there. I stood motionless for some time. I had
loved the man as it is possible for one man to love another. I had not
thought of him much of late; but in this life we cannot always stand by
the grave of those who have gone before. He had loved Gretchen with a
love perhaps less selfish than mine, for he had sacrificed his life
uselessly for her that she might--be mine! Mine! I thought. And who
was I that she should love me instead of him? All the years I had
known him I had known but little of him. God only knows the hearts of
these men who rove or drift, who, anchorless and rudderless, beat upon
the ragged reels of life till the breath leaves them and they pass
through the mystic channel into the serene harbor of eternity. A
sudden wave of dissatisfaction swept over me. What had I done in the
world to merit attention? What had I done that I, and not he, should
know the love of woman? Why should I live to-day and not he? From out
the silence there came no answer; and I continued on. It was life. It
was immutable, and there was no key.