This adventurous gallant, this squire of dames, had done in a day what he had worked, step by step, to do through all these years.

This skipping seafarer, with his powder and lace, his cocked hat and gold-handled sword, had whistled at the gates which he had guarded and by which he had prayed, and all in a minute every defence had been thrown down, and Guida--his own Guida--had welcomed the invader with shameless eagerness.
He crossed the islet slowly.

It seemed to him--and for a moment it was the only thing of which he was conscious--that the heels of his boots shrieked in the shingle, and with every step he was raising an immense weight.

He paused behind the chapel.

After a little the smother lifted slowly from his brain.
"I'll believe in her still," he said aloud.