"Yes, it is a glorious thing, life, on such a night as this. There are many pleasures which we often forget to be grateful for."
Something touched him on the shoulder. It was a touch as light as the tap of the leaves against him; but he started as if some one had struck him a direful blow. A voice faint as the wind echoing in the trees whispered these words in his ear: "Those who die in strife leave behind the pleasures, but not the pain of life."
The young man started to his feet and crossed himself mechanically. Through the thicket he caught a glimpse of a tall woman with a mantilla wrapped about her head and shoulders; at the sight the color faded from his lip and cheek, and his great frame shook with a sudden tremor. Margaret had seen and heard nothing; but she rose and shivered even as he had done, and laying her hand upon his arm said, "Take me home; we have stayed too long."
