And then, while I stood dazed, she tore open her gown, and drawing forth a little gold locket, pressed it in my palm. "The flowers you gave me on your birthday,--the lilies of the valley, do you remember? They are here, Richard. I have worn them upon my heart ever since." I raised the locket to my lips. "I shall treasure it for your sake, Dorothy," I said, "for the sake of the old days. God keep you!" For a moment I looked into the depths of her eyes. Then she was gone, and I went down the stairs alone. Outside, the rain fell unheeded on my new coat. My steps bent southward, past Whitehall, where the martyr Charles had met death so nobly: past the stairs to the river, where she had tripped with me so gayly not a month since. Death was in my soul that day,--death and love, which is the mystery of life. God guided me into the great Abbey near by, where I fell on my knees before Him and before England's dead. He had raised them and cast them down, even as He was casting me, that I might come to know the glory of His holy name. End of Project Gutenberg's Richard Carvel, Volume 6, by Winston Churchill