Without a word he led her to the old bench, where they sat. They were as much alone as if they had been in the green heart of the forest. Isabey continued in silence to hold her hand, which lay without a flutter in his. Manlike, he found it difficult to speak when stirred by a great emotion, but was unable to take his eyes from her face. As he studied Angela, so Angela studied him. In four years he had grown ten years older, his trim, black mustache was streaked with gray, and under his officer’s cap she could see the gray threads also in his black hair. His face was bronzed and beaten by the weather. His eyes and his figure had the indescribable but unmistakable mark of the man who had been long fighting and marching. Both were changed and yet unchanged. After a moment or two Isabey spoke, the plain, simple words of a soldier: “I have thought of you every day and hour since we parted.” His words met a sweet, like response in Angela’s eyes. Together they sat until the dusky twilight fell upon the odorous old garden and the stars came out softly in the darkening heavens. A night bird close to them uttered a few notes, soft and low, which waked them from a dream of paradise. “Come,” said Angela, “I think we must have been here a long time. See, the windows are lighted. To-morrow we can come again into the garden.” “Every day of our lives, after this, we can walk together in a garden,” replied Isabey, smiling. “Our flowering time has come.” THE END TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.