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Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider), 1856-1925

"Beatrice"

You could not have sent a fitter
message. Greeting and farewell! Did it not sum it all? Within the circle
of this little ring was writ the epitome of human life: here were the
beginning and the end of Love and Hate, of Hope and fear, of Joy and
Sorrow.
Beatrice, hail! Beatrice, farewell! till perchance a Spirit rushing
earthward shall cry "_Greeting_," in another tongue, and Death,
descending to his own place, shaking from his wings the dew of tears,
shall answer "_Farewell to me and Night, ye Children of Eternal Day!_"
And what was this other relic? He lifted it--it was Beatrice's tennis
shoe, washed from her foot--Geoffrey knew it, for once he had tied it.
Then Geoffrey broke down--it was too much. He threw himself upon the
great rock and sobbed--that rock where he had sat with her and Heaven
had opened to their sight. But men are not given to such exhibitions of
emotion, and fortunately for him the paroxysm did not last. He could not
have borne it for long.
He rose and went again to the edge of the sea. At this moment old Edward
and his son arrived. Geoffrey pointed to the boat, then held up the
little shoe.


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