“But, Gail,” Eloise exclaimed, “I said I could not send you any word, but you would understand.  I—­I couldn’t say any more than that.”  Her voice was full of tears and she turned away from me and looked at the last radiant tints edging the little cloud-flecks above the horizon.

“Of course I understand you, Eloise, and I do not blame you.  I never could blame you for anything.”  I sprang to my feet.  “You’ll hate me if I say another word,” I said, savagely.

She rose up, too, and put her hand on my arm.  Oh, she was beautiful as she stood beside me.  So many times I have pictured her face, I will not try to picture it as it looked now in this sweet, sacred moment of our lives.

“Gail, I could never hate you.  You do not understand me.  I cannot help what is past now.  I hoped you might forget.  And yet—­” She paused.

All men are humanly alike.  In spite of my strong love for Beverly and my sense of right, the presence of the woman whose image for so many years had been in the sacredest shrine of my heart, Eloise, in all her beauty and her womanly strength and purity, standing beside me, her hand still on my arm—­all overpowered me.

I put my arms about her and held her close to me, kissing her forehead, her cheek, her lips.  The world for one long moment was rose-hued like the sunset’s afterglow; and sky and prairie, lowlands along the winding creek, and tall elm-trees above the deepening shadows, were all engulfed in a mist of golden glory, shot through with amethyst and sapphire, the dainty coraline pink of summer dawns, and the iridescent shimmer of mother-of-pearl.

Heaven opens to us here and there such moments on the way of life.  And the memory of them lingers like perfume through all the days that follow.

We turned our faces toward the darkening village street and the tall elms above the gathering shadows, and neither spoke a word until we reached the door where I must say good night.

“I cannot ask you to forgive me, Little Lees, because you let me have a bit of heaven up there.  I shall go away a better man.  And, remember, that no blessing in your life can be greater than I would wish for you to have.”

The brave white face was before my eyes and the low voice was in my ears long after I had left her door.

“Gail, I cannot help what has been, but I do not blame you.  I should almost wish myself shut in again by the tall red mesas; but maybe, after all, the prairies are best for me.  I am glad I have known you.  Good night.”

“Goodnight,” I said, and turned away.

And that was all.  The last light of day had gone from the sky, and the stars overhead were hidden by the thick leafage of the Burlingame elms.

XIX

A MAN’S PART

  Don’t you guess that the things we’re seeing now will haunt us through
     the years;
  Heaven and hell rolled into one, glory and blood and tears;
  Life’s pattern picked with a scarlet thread, where once we wove with
     a gray,
  To remind us all how we played our part in the shock of an epic day?