And now they are returning to me--only that I may see the hollowness and vanity of them, and taste the bitterness for which I have sacrificed you.

And here, on this last night of my exile, I am confronted with only the jealousy, the doubt, the meanness and selfishness that is to come.

Too late! Too late!" The wondering, troubled eyes that had looked into his here appeared to clear and brighten with a sweet prescience.

Was it the wind moaning in the chimney that seemed to whisper to him: "Too late, beloved, for ME, but not for you.

I died, but Love still lives.