As we came out of the church the rising moon was shining over Anastasia Island, lighting up the inlet with a golden path.
“Let us go up once more to the old fort,” whispered Sara, keeping me in the deep shadow of the trees as John Hoffman passed by, evidently seeking us.
“Yes; there are two of us, and it will be quite safe, for the whole town is abroad in the moonlight. Do content me, Martha. I want to stand once more on that far point of the glacis under my look-out tower. That tower is my fate, you know. Come; it will be the last time.”
We walked up the sea-wall and out on to the glacis, with the light-house flashing and fading opposite; the look-out tower rose high and dark against the sky. Feeling wearied, I sat down and leaned my head against one of the old cannon; but Sara went out to the far point, and gazed up at the look-out.
A quick step sounded on the stone; from the other side, leaping over the wall, came John Hoffman; he did not see me as I sat in the shadow, but went out on to the point where the solitary figure stood looking up at the ruined tower.
“Sara,” he said, taking her hand, “shall we go back to ten years ago?”
And Fate, in the person of the old watch-tower, let a star shine out through her ruined windows as a token that all was well.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Ancient City, by Constance Fenimore Woolson