Sometimes I think it would be sweet, To go out, as a candle in the wind, Whose little flame flares up, in brilliance fleet, To light the secret corners of the mind, And calls to being for a heart-beat's space, Long-buried loves and dreams illuminate; The household furniture of that small place Where Life has dwelt; old, half-forgotten hate, Young, brave belief: dim-colored hopes, and fears, The driftwood memories: grey ghosts of pain, Which haunt us down the long, relentless years, All salient, living, vivid, once again, In that last, eager, leaping ray of light, Which snuffs out in the passing of a breath From windows open to the healing Night, Swift-blown from the quiet Wind of Death.... A throbbing moment, wherein all things cease; A sudden plunging into kindly gloom; A blessed darkness and a perfect peace; And utter silence in an empty Room. I had gone, with my writing things, to heap pillows on the lawn beneath that curious tropical "Sabre" tree, which is entirely covered with thick, wicked spikes, magnified and dangerous thorns. This tree wears smooth with age, they say--like a number of human beings, perhaps!--and the natives hold it in superstitious awe, believing it to be the tree which formed the Cross. They will not cut one down or in any way deface it. Lying prone, elbows propped on my gay cushion, my chin in my hands, I contemplated the last verse I had made, considered a title, decided on "Ultimus," and then, weighting the sheet with a round, yellow orange, I rolled over on my back, and crossing my arms beneath my head looked up at the sky. It was a wonderful morning, cloudless, perfect, not too oppressively warm. And it was the first breathing spell I had had in several days. The business of having as a house guest an eligible young bachelor, of charm and astonishing vitality, was a little wearing. And I was glad when the day came on which Wright concluded that an hour or so in the saddle, with Bill as escort would be both beneficial to his constitution and instructive mentally. Quite aside from the arduous task of exhibiting Havana and environs to a tireless young man, the effort of "keeping up appearances" had really begun to tell on me. Wright was particularly keen-sighted, and I more than once fancied that he had caught a glimpse of the black waters under the thin verbal ice upon which Bill and I so carelessly skated. My husband and I had not been alone together since the arrival of his friend. I had seen to that. When we were not in Havana, or at the country club, there were people at the "Palms." And to insure perfect satisfaction for everyone concerned, I had asked Mercedes Howells to bring a bag, and spend a few days in the country. She had accepted with alacrity, and there remained to me but a few hours of comparative peace before she descended upon the household.