No sepulture! It was the old Hebrew curse--the punishment of the unpardonable sin.
He thought again of his stricken mother in the old home, and then of the love which had gone from him like a dream of the night.

Heaven had willed it that where the heart of man yearned for love, somewhere in the world there was a woman's heart yearning to respond.

But the curse came to some here and some there--the curse of an unrequitable passion.
* * * * * The church bells were still ringing over the darkened town.
Rotha was happy in her love; Heaven be with her and bless her! As for himself, it was a part of the curse that lay on him that her face should haunt his dreams, that her voice should come to him in his sleep, and that "Rotha, Rotha," should rise in sobs to his lips in the weary watches of the night.
Yes, it must be as he had thought--God's hand was on him.

Destiny had to work its own way.

Why should he raise his feeble hands to prevent it?
The end would be the end, whenever and wherever it might come.
Why, then, should he stir?
Ralph had determined to go no farther.