“Even the mist of your memory weakens me. Wasted--_you_--when I may never be so bad again?” He became interested in a stinging sensation in one eye never felt before. With a forefinger he touched the lid. Its tip was not moist. Yet the pressure within increased. Excitement caught him as he realized what must be about to occur. He lifted his voice in a shouted command. “Holder of the Tear Bowl! Quick--to hand--the Bowl!” When only the reverberations of his voice made response, he bemoaned the lost opportunity. “Through the sorrows of all ages to expect it, only that, when it comes, none should be here to catch it!” It fell. A great, gleaming, heavy drop, it slipped from beneath its lid. Salt as brine, it smarted as it rolled down his cheek. Yet no watery, crocodile effluence was this. It did not spatter on the floor. Lasting as a diamond it looked. Carefully he picked it up. Solemnly he examined it. This tear that he had shed--his first--was of that sincerest sort, a tear of pity for himself. * * * * * The while, straight and swift as the spirit’s cry, Dolores had fled the palace. Out of the portal and through the gate she ran, past darting demons abroad to enjoy the fury of the storm. A slim creature in white gleaming through the blackness, she fluttered the imagination of a group of celebrants staggering from an overplus of draughts inhaled to the consort of the King. With raucous cries and out-clutching hands, several pursued her. But too slow were they, or too fleet she. At the Gehennan gates, the guard fell back, advised by the evil eye of the royal signet ring. Once safely outside, she turned and flung the blazing trophy back to them. Seemingly alone, she felt the presence of guards stronger than they and more spiritual than herself. These she did not fear to trust, so tenderly did shadowy wings seem to surround her, so firmly was she steadied from stumbling, so wise was the counsel she heard. Although the storm still raged, lightnings concentrated before her and illumined her way, as up and up she sped. And with her sped happy thoughts. John she soon should find. That she knew. Her feet were swift from lightsomeness and he could not have progressed far, all weighted as he was by the burden of his disappointment. Amor and Innocentia--even now her sweet comrades must be seeking her. All things of her they knew and never for long had they deserted her. Since they were not born of Earth, they must be well acquainted with the by-paths of this strange Beyond. Should the way to John prove difficult, the love-lad would lead her aright. And if reproach still looked from out the soul of him she had forsworn, Innocentia would appeal. John and their babe she soon should find and all be well.