Walter wheeled his horse.

"One last look at the old home, Art," he said; "we may never see it again." "Always sentimental, Wal," laughed Arthur, somewhat scornfully; "but have your way." And he, too, wheeled about for a last farewell look.
The moon had just risen, and by her silvery light the lordly mansion--with its clustering vines, the gardens, the lawn, the shrubbery, and the grand old trees--was distinctly visible.

Never had the place looked more lovely.
The evening breeze brought to their nostrils the delicious scent of roses in full bloom, and a nightingale poured forth a song of ravishing sweetness from a thicket hard by.
Somehow her song seemed to go to Walter's very heart and a sad foreboding oppressed him as they gazed and listened for several moments, then turned their horses' heads and galloped down the road..