“Because,” smiled Emory, “he runs bare-hoofed upon the paddock, old boy!”
And, crossing over to the blacksmith’s side, and laying his hand on his shoulder, to keep him at his work, he said:
“Listen to me! I shall run him never again! That race—be it the last! Tell her I said this—and—and—no other shall ever mount him more!”
Then, with his hat over his face, he turned and went away.
And ever, as the glowing iron took shape beneath his blows, did the blacksmith think:
“I guess when a chain o’ gold has a broken link, that’s hard to mend. I don’t know about such as them, but it seems I welds my own tighter than they.”
Then the sparks flew upward to the clear blue sky and the unfinished song was taken up again.
Another week went by, and Neil had never seen Gwendoline since that night; nor would he do so again ere he left to wander for an indefinite space, to travel in the old world, as he had done once before, there to hide himself while his brain was filled with gloom and the “tiger passions” were on him.
The ship, with its white sails and blue smoke, that bore him away, was fading in the sunset of a summer’s eve, when a missive from him was placed in Gwendoline’s hand. It said:
“I know now that I love you, and, lest I make of that love a weapon that would destroy us both, I go away. I leave you an inheritance of a deathless passion that, in time of need, I bid you call upon. I know, too, what you have done, and I will carry with me, into those distant lands wherein I seek a little solace, the image of that face, divested of its disguise, as it lay white before me, upon the cushions of my carriage, and those lips I dared not touch. Thank God for this, and bid me keep this memory as one of the jewels of your priceless heart—this one gem to wear upon my own. Farewell, and, should we meet no more, think as I do, oh! my darling, that, if separated in this world of strife and though our paths of brief existence lie apart, we may hope the immortal life may seal our union in the sky.