It matters little to tell you of my blessedness; but my very heart was filled with the light of those radiant eyes, which were to me what the sun is to the world.  Yet one dark shadow rested on my soul, beyond even their influence.  Death had been the awful conqueror with whom my race had so often struggled, and to whom they had so often yielded.  A mortal, I loved an immortal, and the fear of separation was ever before me; yet a long and happy time passed away before my fear found words.

It was one evening we were floating over the earth, and the crimson cloud on which we lay was the one where the sun’s last look had rested.  Its gleam fell on a small nook, while all around was fast melting into shade.  Still it was a sad spot which was thus brightened—­it was a new made grave.  Over the others the long grass grew luxuriantly, and speckled, too, by many small and fragrant flowers; but on this, the dark-brown earth had been freshly turned up, and the red worm, writhed restlessly about its disturbed habitation.  Some roses had been scattered, but they were withered; their sweet leaves were already damp and discoloured.  All wore the present and outward signs of our eternal doom—­to perish in corruption.

The shadows of the evening fell, deepening the gloom into darkness—­the one last, bright ray had long been past, when a youth came from the adjacent valley.  That grave but yesterday received one who was to have been his bride—­his betrothed from childhood, for whose sake he had been to far lands and gathered much wealth, but who had pined in his absence and died.  He flung himself on the loathsome place, and the night-wind bore around the ravings of his despair.  Wo for that selfishness which belonged to my mortality!  I felt at that moment more of terror than of pity!  I thought of myself:  Thus must I, with all my power, my science, and loved by one into whose sphere death comes not, even thus must I perish!  True, the rich spices, the perfumed woods, the fragrant oils, which would feed the sacred fire of my funeral pyre, would save my mortal remains from that corruption which makes the disgust of death even worse than its dread.  A few odoriferous ashes alone would be left for my urn.  Yet not the less must I share the common doom of my race—­I must die!

“Nay, my beautiful!” said the voice, which was to me as the fiat of life and of death, so utterly did it fill my existence:  “why should we thus yield to a vague terror?  Listen, my beloved!  I know where the waters of the fountains of life roll their eternal waves—­I know I can bear you thither and bid you drink from their source, and over lips so hallowed death hath no longer dominion.  But, alas!  I know not what may be the punishment.  Like yourselves, the knowledge of our race goes on increasing, and our experience, like your own, hath its agonies.  None have dared what I am about to dare, and the future of my deed is even to me a secret.  But what may not be borne for that draught which makes my loved one as immortal as my love!”