Master of the Vineyard

"And love," he added.

"And love." She held it at arm's length. Sharply defined, the shadow fell upon the white floor of the veranda, perfect in line.

"And there," she continued, "is the same thing in another form. It is still a rose--anyone can see that. Only the colour and fragrance are gone, but one can remember both. To-morrow I'll write, and find out which we're to have--the rose, or the shadow of the rose."

"It's chance," he said, "like the tossing of a coin."

"Most things are," she reminded him. "Did you ever stop to think what destinies attend the opening or closing of a door?"

He made no answer. "Good-night," she said, with a smile.

"Good-night, my beloved." His face was illumined with "the light that never was on sea or land," but he did not even attempt to touch her hand.