Weeks afterward, when we were on the deck of the steamer that was

taking us to my own country, as we stood together, overlooking a

moonlit sea, she reached up, and with one of her soft, fair hands,

turned my face towards hers with a gesture that was characteristic; and

I loved it.

"Dubravnik," she said--she still insists that she will always address

me so, because it is the name by which she first knew me--"I do not

know myself, any more. I am not the same woman who was once so

vengeful. Love has taught me how to forgive. Love has made me over

again. I am no longer the same Zara."

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"No," I said lightly, "for now you are Zara Derrington."

"Tell me," she asked, after another interval of gazing across the

waters, "shall we see Alexis Saberevski, over there, where your home

is?"

I did not answer the question, for upon the instant she mentioned the

name of my friend, it recalled to me the circumstance of my last

parting with him. I remembered the sealed envelope he had given me, and

the instructions that came with it. I had forgotten it entirely, until

that moment; but now, without replying to her question, I drew the

missive from my pocket and broke the seal.

What I read there seems wonderfully prophetic to me, even now, and I

read it over a second time, in my amazement. Then I gave it to Zara.

"Read," I said, "for there is the answer to your question."

And this is the letter Zara read aloud to me, while we two leaned

against the rail of the vessel that was bearing us to our home across

the sea. The man in the moon was looking down, and smiling upon our

happiness, and shedding sufficient light for my sweetheart-wife to see

Saberevski's written words. They were:-

Derrington, these written words are to make you and Zara de

Echeveria known to each other. Months will pass, and many of them

may do so, before you will read what is written here; and it may

be, it likely will be, that you are standing side by side when you

break the seal of the last communication, written or oral, which I

shall probably ever submit to you. For our paths, henceforth, will

lead us widely apart, Derrington. You are a free agent, the arbiter

of your own destiny; I am one who can take no initiative regarding

the paths I must tread. But this letter is not to speak of myself,

but is to tell you about her, if, perchance, when you read these

words, you have never met.




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