"And you find in it a great happiness?"
Her question died unanswered on the quiet evening. Far down the sloping hill, on the glittering expanse of water, the vague form of a flat-boat drifted by, a single light gleaming at the bow. At last Natalia stirred. One hand was pressed against her bosom, as she stared straight out before her.
"You make me feel unworthy all the love that has been given me," she said. "It seems I have done nothing for any one—always nothing."
"Ah, but you have done a great deal, Natalia," Sargent answered quickly. "Think what you were to Morgan in his hour of adversity. He told me before the trial that without you his life would be wrecked. He says you are the only reason for taking up his life again. Is that not a great deal? And then," his voice lowered and grew very gentle, "you have brought a great happiness into my life. Without the memories of our happy days together, it would have been a very desolate old world to me. I always knew you would not forget me entirely; a guiding star, no matter how high it soars, never forgets its follower. If every man could have a memory, as I have had, to guide him through the pitfalls and temptations of his youth, when he is struggling on to the heights where character is formed, this would be a far better world. My greatest efforts could never be enough to show what I mean—Natalia."
He waited for her to speak, but no words came. She sat looking out into the night, as if his voice had been unheard. Her shawl had fallen to the ground and lay at her feet. Sargent stooped and, picking it up, held it to his lips a moment.
"Our lives seem to have grown very far apart," he began once more, attempting no longer to keep the caressing notes from showing, "but I want you to remember that I shall never forget you. You believe that, don't you? There is only one thing I am going to ask of you." He paused and brushed his hand across his eyes. "When you and Morgan go back home—when you go back to Boston to live, will you go some day to see my mother? I should love for her to see you once. She knows all about you. I hardly believe that you would have to tell her your name."
Suddenly, from a distance, the sound of music floated to them. Sargent lifted his head and listened; then stood up. "They are coming for me," he said, a great weariness creeping into his voice. "I must go back to the town and make my speech of thanks."
Natalia's hand touched his arm.
"Don't go—yet," she murmured. "I have something to tell you."
Sargent sat down beside her, her hand still resting on his arm. In the dim light he could see her tears: