Bolivar himself went with del Torre’s body to Carácas; our General’s _corps d’armée_ were his pall-bearers. The news, of course, had been sent to the city; the Governor had fled; the General’s tri-color now, the red-white-green of Colombia, was floating over the Capitol. All the town was gay with banners, merry with song. It had forgotten the earthquake, and was now rebuilt, though lower down. The Casa Rey now stood at the head of the principal street, which sloped from it down the mountain side. And as the regiment escorting his body debouched into this avenue and turned upward (as its dead leader had so often done before), and the town came in view, there was a great hush upon the people. For lo! Now, at last, the window of the tower was wide open and the house bore all no black, but was festooned with laughing tri-color. And the window of the tower was open, and there within stood our Lady Dolores, in her white wedding laces, waving her hand. She met them at the great door. Bolivar, and the officers who had been with our General, started. For, as she stood there in her slender satin gown, her eyes upon them, she was like a young girl. And her girlish waist was bound about with pearls. The fact was, she was seven-and-twenty. They placed his bier first in the great room; but she would have it in hers, so in the tower-room they placed it, with burning candles standing sentry now where she had stood; and by its side were lilies--the flower of the Holy Ghost--and then they left her. Then first, since her wedding-day, she looked upon him, face to face, his eyes now dead to see. Their eyes so met. And outside, from the city now again joyous, came the carillon of freedom bells. XVI. THIS is the life story of Don Sebastian Ruy José Maria, Marques del Torre y Luna; and of Maria Josepha Dolores del Torre, Condesa de Luna, his wife; and of the old stone castle that alone the earthquake left standing in the pleasant city of Carácas. The Holy Catholic Church had alone their secret; and she kept it; and now she has, laid up on earth, their treasure too. No longer such grim motives vex their country; if she battles with herself, it is for money or for acres of wide coffee land. Such cruel tales cannot be found there now. But, perhaps, withal, some touch of noble life is vanished, with that flag of blood and gold. Good cannot grow bravely without evil in this world. You may see the Casa Rey still standing in the sombre street, and the empty tower window there. The Marquesa del Torre y Luna died, quite old, more than a score of years ago. Her blue eyes are no longer there. Perhaps they are in heaven, and now at last, “know not their love from God.” The people of Carácas think so. Her eyes “Even than on this earth tenderer-- While hopes and aims long lost with her, Stand round her image side by side, Like tombs of pilgrims that have died About the Holy Sepulchre.” TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: