between pairs of souls, which seems to imply some curious duality of nature, of which earthly passion is but a symbol.  It is accompanied by an absolute clearness of vision into the inmost soul and being of the other.  Cynthia’s mind was as clear to me in those days as a crystal globe might be which one could hold in one’s hand, and my mind was as clear to her.  There is a sense accompanying it almost of identity, as if the other nature was the exact and perfect complement of one’s own; I can explain this best by an image.  Think of a sphere, let us say, of alabaster, broken into two pieces by a blow, and one piece put away or mislaid.  The first piece, let us suppose, stands in its accustomed place, and the owner often thinks in a trivial way of having it restored.  One day, turning over some lumber, he finds the other piece, and wonders if it is not the lost fragment.  He takes it with him, and sees on applying it that the fractures correspond exactly, and that joined together the pieces complete the sphere.

Even so did Cynthia’s soul fit into mine.  But I grew to understand later the words of the Gospel—­“they neither marry nor are given in marriage.”  These unions are not permanent, any more than they are really permanent on earth.  On earth, owing to material considerations such as children and property, a marriage is looked upon as indissoluble.  But this takes no account of the development of souls; and indeed many of the unions of earth, the passion once over, do grow into a very noble and beautiful friendship.  But sometimes, even on earth, it is the other way; and passion once extinct, two natures often realise their dissimilarities rather than their similarities; and this is the cause of much unhappiness.  But in the other land, two souls may develop in quite different ways and at a different pace.  And then this relation may also come quietly and simply to an end, without the least resentment or regret, and is succeeded invariably by a very tender and true friendship, each being sweetly and serenely content with all that has been given or received; and this friendship is not shaken or fretted, even if both of the lovers form new ties of close intimacy.  Some natures form many of these ties, some few, some none at all.  I believe that, as a matter of fact, each nature has its counterpart at all times, but does not always succeed in finding it.  But the union, when it comes, seems to take precedence of all other emotions and all other work.  I did not know this at the time; but I had a sense that my work was for a time over, because it seemed quite plain to me that as yet Cynthia was not in the least degree suited to the sort of work which I had been doing.

We walked on together for some time, in a happy silence, though quiet communications of a blessed sort passed perpetually between us without any interchange of word.  Our feet moved along the hillside, away from the crags, because I felt that Cynthia had no strength to climb them; and I wondered what our life would be.