If you have passed on that torch of principle of which you spoke--if I can do as much--then all will be well.

We shall have served." She dropped now into a chair near by a little table, where the light of the tall candles, guttering in their enameled sconces, fell full upon her face.

She looked at me fixedly, her eyes dark and mournful in spite of their eagerness.
"Ah, it is easy for you to speak, easy for you who have so rich and full a life--who have all! But I--my hands are empty!" She spread out her curved fingers, looking at them, dropping her hands, pathetically drooping her shoulders.
"All, Madam?
What do you mean?
You see me almost in rags.

Beyond the rifle at my cabin, the pistol at my tent, I have scarce more in wealth than what I wear, while you have what you like." "All but everything!" she murmured; "all but home!" "Nor have I a home." "All, except that my couch is empty save for myself and my memories!" "Not more than mine, nor with sadder memories, Madam." "Why, what do you mean ?" she asked me suddenly.

"What do you _mean ?_" She repeated it again, as though half in horror.
"Only that we are equal and alike.