Even in this hour Gabriella was receiving the wound which is so often the pathos and the happiness of a woman's love. For even in these moments he could not forget Truth for her. And so, she said to herself with a hidden tear, it would be always. She would give him her all, she could never be all to him. Her life would be enfolded completely in his; but he would hold out his arms also toward a cold Spirit who would forever elude him--Wisdom. The golden crescent dropped behind the dark green hills of the silent land. Where were they? Gone? or still under the trees? "Ah, Gabriella, it is love that makes a man believe in a God of Love!" "David! David!"-- The south wind, warm with the first thrill of summer, blew from across the valley, from across the mighty rushing sea of the young hemp. O Mystery Immortal! which is in the hemp and in our souls, in its bloom and in our passions; by which our poor brief lives are led upward out of the earth for a season, then cut down, rotted and broken--for Thy long service!