These words appeared to distress her who, as it seemed to me, was above all things anxious to prove herself woman and no more.
“All these qualities are nothing, Humphrey,” she cried. “As for the beauty, such as it is, it comes to me with my blood, and with it the glitter of my hair which is the heritage of those who for generations have drunk of the Life-water. My mother was lovelier than I, as was her mother, or so I have heard, since only the fairest were the wives of the Kings of the Children of Wisdom. For the rest, such arts as I have spring not from magic, but from knowledge which your people will acquire in days to come, that is, if Oro spares them. Surely you above all should know that I am only woman,” she added very slowly and searching my face with her eyes.
“Why, Yva? During the little while that we have been together I have seen much which makes me doubt. Even Bickley the sceptic doubts also.”
“I will tell you, though I am not sure that you will believe me.” She glanced about her as though she were frightened lest someone should overhear her words or read her thoughts. Then she stretched out her hands and drawing my head towards her, put her lips to my ear and whispered:
“Because once you saw me die, as women often die—giving life for life.”
“I saw you die?” I gasped.
She nodded, then continued to whisper in my ear, not in her own voice, but another’s:
“Go where you seem called to go, far away. Oh! the wonderful place in which you will find me, not knowing that you have found me. Goodbye for a little while; only for a little while, my own, my own!”
I knew the voice as I knew the words, and knowing, I think that I should have fallen to the ground, had she not supported me with her strong arms.
“Who told you?” I stammered. “Was it Bickley or Bastin? They knew, though neither of them heard those holy words.”
“Not Bickley nor Bastin,” she answered, shaking her head, “no, nor you yourself, awake or sleeping, though once, by the lake yonder, you said to me that when a certain one lay dying, she bade you seek her elsewhere, for certainly you would find her. Humphrey, I cannot say who told me those words because I do not know. I think they are a memory, Humphrey!”
“That would mean that you, Yva, are the same as one who was—not called Yva.”
“The same as one who was called Natalie, Humphrey,” she replied in solemn accents. “One whom you loved and whom you lost.”
“Then you think that we live again upon this earth?”
“Again and yet again, until the time comes for us to leave the earth forever. Of this, indeed, I am sure, for that knowledge was part of the secret wisdom of my people.”
“But you were not dead. You only slept.”
“The sleep was a death-sleep which went by like a flash, yes, in an instant, or so it seemed. Only the shell of the body remained preserved by mortal arts, and when the returning spirit and the light of life were poured into it again, it awoke. But during this long death-sleep, that spirit may have spoken through other lips and that light may have shone through other eyes, though of these I remember nothing.”
“Then that dream of our visit to a certain star may be no dream?”
“I think no dream, and you, too, have thought as much.”
“In a way, yes, Yva. But I could not believe and turned from what I held to be a fantasy.”
“It was natural, Humphrey, that you should not believe. Hearken! In this temple a while ago I showed you a picture of myself and of a man who loved me and whom I loved, and of his death at Oro’s hands. Did you note anything about that man?”
“Bickley did,” I answered. “Was he right?”
“I think that he was right, since otherwise I should not have loved you, Humphrey.”
“I remember nothing of that man, Yva.”
“It is probable that you would not, since you and he are very far apart, while between you and him flow wide seas of death, wherein are set islands of life; perhaps many of them. But I remember much who seem to have left him but a very little while ago.”
“When you awoke in your coffin and threw your arms about me, what did you think, Yva?”
“I thought you were that man, Humphrey.”
There was silence between us and in that silence the truth came home to me. Then there before the effigy of Fate and in the desolate, glowing temple we plighted anew our troth made holy by a past that thus so wonderfully lived again.
Of this consecrated hour I say no more. Let each picture it as he will. A glory as of heaven fell upon us and in it we dwelt a space.
“Beloved,” she whispered at length in a voice that was choked as though with tears, “if it chances that we should be separated again for a little while, you will not grieve over much?”
“Knowing all I should try not to grieve, Yva, seeing that in truth we never can be parted. But do you mean that I shall die?”
“Being mortal either of us might seem to die, Humphrey,” and she bent her head as though to hide her face. “You know we go into dangers this day.”
“Does Oro really purpose to destroy much of the world and has he in truth the power, Yva?”
“He does so purpose and most certainly he has the power, unless—unless some other Power should stay his hand.”
“What other power, Yva?”
“Oh! perhaps that which you worship, that which is called Love. The love of man may avert the massacre of men. I hope so with all my heart. Hist! Oro comes. I feel, I know that he comes, though not in search of us who
