And there, below the terrace steps, upon the wide carriage drive, stood a chariot of gold, with seats of crimson velvet, and harnessed to it the six black steeds, with tossing heads and eyes of fire, strong, and sleek, and slim. One youth alone stood at the foremost bridle. And in the midst of all this ruddy glamour shone the pure whiteness of Rosalie’s robe, with all its flimsy showers of lace and jewels. And there beside the carriage step stood Mariana, the frog upon her shoulder, and with her Everard, who had preceded them. Then Rosalie stepped in lightly and gracefully, and sat down. Mariana bent forward, and with the grace peculiar to her arranged the spreading train about her feet. Then looking up, with mutual feeling each drew an arm round the other’s neck and kissed. Rosalie whispered: “You will follow, Mariana, and we’ll meet again, in no land of shadows, red or black, but in the sunlight. And you’ll bring Everard. A little company along the road is most desirable. But for the present, good-bye!” And then the Master, gathering the long reins in his hand as he sat down beside her, wrung Everard’s hand, and seeing Mariana held her hand toward him too, bent over it and kissed it, by that one act undoing all the past in which she suffered through him. The Master shook the reins. A thousand tingling stars shook from them upon and round about the coal-black steeds. One wild bound forward all in unison, not on a straight road, but up some climbing steep. Rosalie turned round. And laughing, half in fear and half in happiness, kissed her hand to Brightcoat. “Good-bye—till—till we meet again!” Then the Master turned round also, a face very unlike to hers. His face was dark and shadowy as it ever had been. The same contemptuous curl lay on his firm lips; a mocking laughter was in his eyes. His glance fell upon Marble House, and the guests all drawn towards the terraces. With his free hand he felt in the pocket of the long coat he wore. “I forgot to leave my New Year’s presents, Rosalie,” said he, and brought out a large handful of precious stones, flinging them down to Lucifram. Then drawing out another, he handed these to Rosalie, and bade her throw them too. They fell among the crowd, who gathered them and praised their beauty. But the six black steeds with little apparent effort climbed up the steep mountain-side, or so it seemed to be. And gradually the red light disappeared, and Lucifram along with it, and darkness followed. And now there was nothing but the wind and icy snow and loneliness—nothing but the path. Nothing was to be seen on either side. The spirited steeds, wild as ocean foam, flew up and on the mountain track, the winds moaned after them with a song as wild, as full of sad complaint, as if they were embodied spirits of the sighs and tears of broken hearts.