Fate has his way with those who mar what is decreed. "And now, goodbye." He closed the door behind him, Then stept, with firm swift footstep down the stair, Meaning to go where she would never find him; He would go down through darkness to despair. Out at the door he stept; the autumn air Came fresh upon his face; none saw him go. "Goodbye, my love," he muttered; "it is better so." Soon he was on the high road, out of sight Of valley and farm; soon he could see no more The oast-house pointing finger take the light As tumbling pigeons glittered over; nor Could he behold the wind-vane gilded o’er, Swinging above the church; the road swung round. "Now, the last look," he cried: he saw that holy ground. "Goodbye," he cried; he could behold it all, Spread out as in a picture; but so clear That the gold apple stood out from the wall; Like a red jewel stood the grazing steer. Precise, intensely coloured, all brought near, As in a vision, lay that holy ground. "Mary is there," he moaned, "and I am outward bound. "I never saw this place so beautiful, Never like this. I never saw it glow. Spirit is on this place; it fills it full. So let the die be cast; I will not go. But I will see her face to face and know From her own lips what thoughts she has of me; And if disaster come: right; let disaster be." Back, by another way, he turned. The sun Fired the yew-tops in the Roman woods. Lights in the valley twinkled one by one, The starlings whirled in dropping multitudes. Dusk fingered into one earth’s many moods, Back to The Roughs he walked; he neared the brook; A lamp burned in the farm; he saw; his fingers shook. He had to cross the brook, to cross a field, Where daffodils were thick when years were young. Then, were she there, his fortunes should be sealed. Down the mud trackway to the brook he swung; Then while the passion trembled on his tongue, Dim, by the dim bridge-stile, he seemed to see A figure standing mute; a woman--it was she. She stood quite stilly, waiting for him there. She did not seem surprised; the meeting seemed Planned from all time by powers in the air To change their human fates; he even deemed That in another life this thing had gleamed, This meeting by the bridge. He said, "It’s you." "Yes, I," she said, "who else? You must have known; you knew "That I should come here to the brook to see, After your message." "You were out," he said. "Gone, and I did not know where you could be. Where were you, Mary, when the thing was laid?" "Old Mrs. Gale is dying, and I stayed Longer than usual, while I read the Word. You could have hardly gone." She paused, her bosom stirred. "Mary, I sinned," he said. "Not that, dear, no," She said; "but, oh, you were unkind, unkind, Never to write a word and leave me so, But out of sight with you is out of mind." "Mary, I sinned," he said, "and I was blind. Oh, my beloved, are you Lion’s wife?" "Belov’d sounds strange," she answered, "in my present life.