“The Governor and a priest, Olivia.” “He was in the Governor’s house,” she said. “As a friend?” “A secretary there.” His mouth had grown very dry; it was hard to answer these questions. “Then he stole the book of maps, Charles?” “Yes.” “Did you find it?” “Yes. I found it.” “Was there fighting? Fighting in the town? Was he alone when he died?” “He died before the fighting began. An hour or two before.” “Who was with him, Charles?” “A priest was with him.” “A Roman Catholic priest?” “Yes. I found the priest in the room with him. The priest had attended him. At the end.” “He had become a Roman Catholic?” “Yes, Olivia.” “I want to picture it, Charles. Was there fighting in the town when you. When you found him?” “There was a little firing. But the men were at breakfast. I heard a few shots. Distant shots. So. So I left the men. And West and I made a grave. We buried him there, Olivia. The priest. There was a service.” “And then. What happened then, Charles?” “I picked these rosebuds, and this pebble, Olivia. From the grave. For you.” The rosebuds were crushed and dropping. She took them in the hollow of her hand. There was a grace in all that she did. The holding out of her delicate palm was beautiful; the movement showed curiously her exquisite refinement; it was as though she had said some beautiful thing; her mind showed in it. She took the relics, looking not at them, but at Charles, her eyes swimming with tears, her dear mind wild with tears. “Thank you,” she said, on a sob. “You planted the roses, Charles? You thought of it.” He did not answer. He turned his head, to look out over Tolu. The ship was moving slowly, heading out over the gulf; the fiery town was dwindling; the wake whirled pale bubbles about the rudder. “I think no other man would have thought of it,” she said quietly. “Ah,” he said, sighing. “Charles,” she said, “tell me now, will you. That’s over. That part. What happened in the town?” “The men got drunk, Olivia, and set the town on fire. They sacked the place. When I came back to the Plaza. Oh, I can’t. I can’t.” “You sent off the wounded, then, did you not?” “Yes.” “I helped them, down in the ward-room. Oh, poor fellows. I asked them about the battle. I think I’ve. I think, Charles, I’ve come very near to the world in these last days. They told me a little. Then I heard firing. We were busy below, with a sheet over the ports to keep out the sun. Some of them are dreadfully hurt. I couldn’t see what was happening. But I knew you were attacked. Then the cannon overhead began. The ship shook. Then a wounded man came down. He said you were dead, Charles. It was like the end of everything.” “It was, Olivia,” he said. “I know now, Charles, what war is.” “You didn’t see that water,” he answered. “Oh, not that water. My act and deed. All of it. All of it by me. And there was a girl in the Plaza. I’m disgraced. Oh, I shall never. It’s all over. All over after to-day.”