At all events, he forbore to press his question as to the whereabouts of Uncle Hiero, who would turn up sooner or later.  It was enough for the present to know that he still existed.  Meanwhile he would sound the depths of this fresh nature, undisturbed.

The hoopoe (who had played an important part in promoting the acquaintance thus far) forsook his perch above Balder’s head, and after hovering for a moment in mid-air, as if to select the best spot, he alighted on the mossy cushion at the foot of the twin palm-trees.  Such a couch might Adam and Eve have rejoiced to find in Paradise.  Balder took the hint, and without more ado threw himself down there, while Gnulemah half knelt, half sat beside him, propped on her arm, her warm fingers buried in the cool moss.  The little master-of-ceremonies remained, with a fine sense of propriety, between the two, preening and fluttering his brilliant feathers and casting diamond glances sidelong.

“You remember nothing before coming to this place, Gnulemah?”

“Only dream-memories, that grow dimmer.  Before this, I was a spirit in the great picture, and when my lamp goes out I shall return thither.”

“Your lamp, Gnulemah?—­what lamp?”

“How can you understand me and yet not know what I know?  My lamp is the light of my life; it burns always in the temple yonder; when it goes out my life will become a darkness, for I am Gnulemah, the daughter of fire!”

“I knew not that my uncle was a poet,” muttered Balder to himself.  “A daughter of fire,—­yes, there is lightning in her eyes!” Aloud he said, secretly alluding to the manner of his descent into the garden,—­

“I dropped from the sky into your world, Gnulemah.  Though we can talk together, whatever we tell each other will be new.”

She caught the idea of a lifetime spent instructing this delightful being, and receiving in return instruction from him.  She entered at once the charming vista.

“Tell me,” she began, bending towards him in her earnestness, “are there others like you?—­are they bright and beautiful as you are?—­or do they look like Hiero?”

Balder laughed, and flushed, and his heart warmed pleasurably.  Here was a compliment from the very soul of nature.  And albeit the lovely flatterer’s experience of men was avowedly most limited, yet her taste was unvitiated as her sincerity, and her judgment may therefore have been more valuable than that of the most practised belle of fashion.  But he answered modestly,—­

“Hiero and I are both men, and there are as many men as stars in heaven, and as many women as men, myriads of men and women, Gnulemah!”

She lifted her face and hand in eloquent astonishment.

“O, what a world!” she exclaimed in her low-toned way.  “But are the women all like me?”

“There is not one like you,” answered Balder, with the quiet emphasis of conviction.  How refreshing was it thus to set aside conventionalism!  Her ingenuousness brought forth the like from him.