Eveena herself had exchanged her maiden white for the light pink of a young matron, but was closely veiled in a similar material.  Her mother and sister kissed her with much emotion, though without the tears and lamentations, real or affected, with which—­alike among the nomads of Asia and the most cultivated races of Europe—­even those relatives who have striven hardest to marry a daughter or sister think it necessary to celebrate the fulfilment of their hopes, and the termination of their often prolonged and wearisome labours.  I was then left alone with my bride, who remained half-seated, half-crouching on the cushions in a corner of the room.  I could not help feeling keenly how much a marriage so unceremonious and with so little previous acquaintance, or rather so great a reserve and distance in our former intercourse, intensified the awkwardness many a man on Earth feels when first left alone with the partner of his future life.  But a single glance at the small drooping figure half-hidden in the cushions brought the reflection that a situation, embarrassing to the bridegroom, must be in the last degree alarming and distressing to the bride.  But for her visit to the Astronaut we should have been almost strangers; I could hardly have recognised even her voice.  I must, however, speak; and naturally my first sentence was a half-articulate request that she would remove her veil.

“No,” she whispered, rising, “you must do that.”

Taking off the glove of her left hand, she came up to me shyly and slowly, and placed it in my right—­a not unmeaning ceremony.  Having obeyed her instruction, my lips touched for the first time the brow of my young wife.  That she was more than shy and startled, was even painfully agitated and frightened, became instantly apparent now that her countenance was visible.  What must be the state of Martial brides in general, when the signature of the contract immediately places them at the disposal of an utter stranger, it was beyond the power of my imagination to conceive, if their feelings were at all to be measured by Eveena’s under conditions sufficiently trying, but certainly far better than theirs.  Nothing was so likely to quiet her as perfect calmness on my side; and, though with a heart beating almost as fast as her own, if with very different emotions, I led her gently back to her place, and resting on a cushion just out of reach, began to talk to her.  Choosing as the easiest subject our adventure of yesterday, I asked what could have induced her to place herself in a situation so dangerous.

“Do not be angry with me now,” she pleaded.  “I am exceedingly fond of flowers; they have been my only amusement except the training of my pets.  You can see how little women have to do, how little occupation or interest is permitted us.  The rearing of rare flowers, or the creation of new ones, is almost the only employment in which we can find exercise for such intelligence as we possess.  I had never seen before the flower that grew on that shelf.  I believe, indeed, that it only grows on a few of our higher mountains below the snow-line, and I was anxious to bring it home and see what could be made of it in the garden.  I thought it might be developed into something almost as beautiful as that bright leenoo you admired so greatly in my flower-bed.”