They rode on along the broad, level road, finding always something new to admire, but they did not talk so much or so brightly as before. Their faces were pale and thoughtful, and a shadow had fallen on their spirits—the shadow that always fell when they were reminded of the Varians.
Memory was poison to their hearts.
“My heart hath but one passion
To forget.
Ah, is there nothing in the world then
To take away the soul’s divine regret?”
But when they were returning along the same road, both craned their necks eagerly toward the ruined home which had aroused in them so much painful interest.
They looked half questioningly toward each other, and Cinthia murmured:
“I—I—should like to walk among the ruins—should you?”
“I am always walking among ruins—the ruins of a life’s happiness,” the actress answered, sadly enough; then added: “But yes, we can easily spare time to go through the place. Uncle Rube, are strangers permitted to enter Love’s Retreat?”