He stood before the tower which was inhabited, and looked at the dim-lighted windows.  To the entrance led a long flight of steps, and as he gazed through the gloom, he seemed to discern a figure standing there, before the doorway.  He was not mistaken; the figure moved, descended.  Motionless, he saw it turn towards him.  Then he knew the step, the form; he sprang forward.

“Irene!”

“You have come to say good-night?  See how our thoughts chime; I guessed you would.”

Her voice had a soft, caressing tremor; her hand sought his.

“Irene!  You have given me a new life, a new soul!”

Her lips were near as she answered him.

“Rest from your sorrows, my dearest.  I love you!  I love you!”

He was alone again in the darkness, on the hillside.  He heard the voice of the far-off river, and to his rapturous mood it sounded as a moaning, brought a sudden sadness.  All at once, he thought amid his triumph of those unhappy ones whom the glory of love would never bless; those, men and women, born to a vain longing such as he had known, doomed to the dread solitude from which he by miracle had been saved.  His heart swelled, and his eyes were hot with tears.

But as he went down to the dale, the calm of the silent hour crept over him.  He whispered the beloved name, and it gave him peace; such peace as follows upon the hallowing of a profound passion, justified of reason, and proof under the hand of time.