At the turn of the path the three travelers paused to look back at the old house with its background of mountains.
“Farewell, El Dorado!” said the Viscomte de Courcelles.
“Farewell, my Promised Land!” said Don Claudio Loredan.
The German paused a moment when the others went on, looking back dreamily. “Farewell, Io!” he said.
“It is strange,” he said, rejoining his companions, “that sometimes on leaving a place or person one scarcely knows the name of, there comes a feeling of sadness, almost of irreparable loss.”
“I suppose,” said the Frenchman, “that the veiled lady we have just met is one of the exiles from the Olives. I wonder if they expect her at home.”
She was expected. She was looked for joyously and longingly. The people of San Salvador remained watching all the afternoon. The men sent up to follow Iona had not returned. Doubtless all three were waiting to accompany Elena. They watched the turn of the mountain path, sure that they would take the outer one next the town. Spyglasses were ready to catch the first glimpse of their coming.
“They are coming! They are coming!”
The flutter of a garment was visible around the rock.
Tacita looked through a glass that rested on a man’s shoulder. Her other hand was in her husband’s arm.