Appleby clenched one hand, and turned his face away, and there was for a full minute silence in the dimly lighted room while he looked out through the square of open casement at the dusky blueness of the night. Then through the hum of voices in the street below there came a rhythmic tramp of feet and a thin jingle of steel, while as it grew louder the glare of waving torches shone into the room. Tony watched it flicker upon the wall. “What is going on?” he said. “They are carrying Morales to his burial,” said Appleby. “Maccario has sent a half‐company of the Sin Verguenza.” Tony smiled curiously. “That man has good taste. I liked him,” he said. “Well, there is one of the Sin Verguenza who will never march again. I wonder if you remember that two of our family once fought with the Legitimatists in Spain. Still, I think they would have looked down upon the Sin Verguenza.” Again Appleby, struggling with tense emotion, found words failed him, and sat silent until Tony laid his hand on his. “It might have been better if I had never fallen in love with Violet,” he said. “Why?” said Appleby, who fancied that Tony was watching him curiously. “She was in love with you.” “I think not,” and Tony feebly shook his head. “It isn’t necessary to discuss that again.” He stopped with a little shiver, and Appleby’s fingers closed tightly on his hand. “If I could only bring you back to her you would find out how mistaken you are.” “That is evidently out of the question. Nobody could, and I think if a little longer life had been granted me I would have tried to give her up. I know now that she would never have been happy with me. Still, you will tell her, Bernard—what has happened to me.” Appleby only pressed his hand, and it was a minute or two later when Tony spoke again. “There is one man who would please Violet—and I don’t think I would mind,” he said. Again Appleby felt the blood in his forehead. “She never thought of me, and I have nothing to offer her,” he said. “No,” said Tony with a visible effort. “Still, I think, Bernard—if you saw much of her she would. You have both done a good deal for me.” He stopped with a gasp, and seemed to sink into sleep or partial stupor, while Appleby sat very still listening to the voices in the street below while half an hour dragged by. Then Tony opened his eyes, and looked about him vacantly. “I think I’ve been dreaming, and that song Hester was fond of is running in my head,” he said. “The one about the gates—it got hold of my fancy—I think they were of precious stones. She and Violet were out on the lawn of Low Wood—where you look down into the valley, you know—and Nettie was trying to convince the vicar those gates could be stormed. There was something I couldn’t quite understand about the marble knight in Northrop church.” Appleby saw that Tony’s thoughts were wandering. “Of course!” he said soothingly, though his voice was strained. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Tony.”