"Got into trouble with a man and died; Her sister keeps the child." His hearer stirred. "Dead, too? She was a pretty girl," he sighed, "A graceful pretty creature, like a bird. What is the child?" "A boy. Her sister heard Too late to help; poor Susan died; the man None knew who he could be, but many rumours ran." "Ah," Michael said. The horses tossed their heads; A little wind arising struck in chill; "Time," he began, "that we were in our beds." A distant heifer challenged from the hill, Scraped at the earth with ’s forefoot and was still. "Come with me," Lion pleaded. Michael grinned; He turned his splashing horse, and prophesied a wind. "So long," he said, and "Kind of you to call. Straight on, and watch the stars"; his horse’s feet Trampled the firmer foothold, ending all. He flung behind no message to his sweet, No other word to Lion; the dull beat Of his horse’s trample drummed upon the trail; Lion could watch him drooping in the moonlight pale, Drooping and lessening; half expectant still That he would turn and greet him; but no sound Came, save the lonely water’s whip-poor-will And the going horse hoofs dying on the ground. "Michael," he cried, "Michael!" A lonely mound Beyond the water gave him back the cry. "That’s at an end," he said, "and I have failed her--I." Soon the far hoof-beats died, save for a stir Half heard, then lost, then still, then heard again. A quickening rhythm showed he plied the spur. Then a vast breathing silence took the plain. The moon was like a soul within the brain Of the great sleeping world; silent she rode The water talked, talked, talked; it trembled as it flowed. A moment Lion thought to ride in chase. He turned, then turned again, knowing his friend. He forded through with death upon his face, And rode the plain that seemed never to end. Clumps of pale cattle nosed the thing unkenned, Riding the night; out of the night they rose, Snuffing with outstretched heads, stamping with surly lows, Till he was threading through a crowd, a sea Of curious shorthorns backing as he came, Barring his path, but shifting warily; He slapped the hairy flanks of the more tame. Unreal the ghostly cattle lumbered lame. His horse kept at an even pace; the cows Broke right and left like waves before advancing bows. Lonely the pampas seemed amid that herd. The thought of Mary’s sorrow pricked him sore; He brought no comfort for her, not a word; He would not ease her pain, but bring her more. The long miles dropped behind; lights rose before, Lights and the seaport and the briny air; And so he sailed for home to comfort Mary there. * * * * * When Mary knew the worst she only sighed, Looked hard at Lion’s face, and sat quite still, White to the lips, but stern and stony-eyed, Beaten by life in all things but the will. Though the blow struck her hard it did not kill. She rallied on herself, a new life bloomed Out of the ashy heart where Michael lay entombed.