“With this kiss again I give myself to you.  But oh!  Humphrey, do not ask too much of the god of my people, Fate,” and she looked me in the eyes and sighed.

“What do you mean?” I asked, trembling.

“Many, many things.  Among them, that happiness is not for mortals, and remember that though my life began long ago, I am mortal as you are, and that in eternity time makes no difference.”

“And if so, Yva, what then?  Do we meet but to part?”

“Who said it?  Not I. Humphrey, I tell you this.  Nor earth, nor heaven, nor hell have any bars through which love cannot burst its way towards reunion and completeness.  Only there must be love, manifested in many shapes and at many times, but ever striving to its end, which is not of the flesh.  Aye, love that has lost itself, love scorned, love defeated, love that seems false, love betrayed, love gone astray, love wandering through the worlds, love asleep and living in its sleep, love awake and yet sleeping; all love that has in it the germ of life.  It matters not what form love takes.  If it be true I tell you that it will win its way, and in the many that it has seemed to worship, still find the one, though perchance not here.”

At her words a numb fear gripped my heart.

“Not here?  Then where?” I said.

“Ask your dead wife, Humphrey.  Ask the dumb stars.  Ask the God you worship, for I cannot answer, save in one word—­Somewhere!  Man, be not afraid.  Do you think that such as you and I can be lost in the aching abysms of space?  I know but little, yet I tell you that we are its rulers.  I tell you that we, too, are gods, if only we can aspire and believe.  For the doubting and timid there is naught.  For those who see with the eyes of the soul and stretch out their hands to grasp there is all.  Even Bastin will tell you this.”

“But,” I said, “life is short.  Those worlds are far away, and you are near.”

She became wonderful, mysterious.

“Near I am far,” she said; “and far I am near, if only this love of yours is strong enough to follow and to clasp.  And, Humphrey, it needs strength, for here I am afraid that it will bear little of such fruit as men desire to pluck.”

Again terror took hold of me, and I looked at her, for I did not know what to say or ask.

“Listen,” she went on.  “Already my father has offered me to you in marriage, has he not, but at a price which you do not understand?  Believe me, it is one that you should never pay, since the rule of the world can be too dearly bought by the slaughter of half the world.  And if you would pay it, I cannot.”

“But this is madness!” I exclaimed.  “Your father has no powers over our earth.”

“I would that I could think so, Humphrey.  I tell you that he has powers and that it is his purpose to use them as he has done before.  You, too, he would use, and me.”

“And, if so, Yva, we are lords of ourselves.  Let us take each other while we may.  Bastin is a priest.”