“Child,” said I, seeing by Taee’s countenance that he spoke in serious earnest, “it is crime in thee to slay me; it were a crime not less in me to say, ‘Slay thyself.’  The All-Good chooses His own time to give us life, and his own time to take it away.  Let us go back.  If, on speaking with thy father, he decides on my death, give me the longest warning in thy power, so that I may pass the interval in self-preparation.”

Chapter XXIX.

In the midst of those hours set apart for sleep and constituting the night of the Vril-ya, I was awakened from the disturbed slumber into which I had not long fallen, by a hand on my shoulder.  I started and beheld Zee standing beside me.  “Hush,” she said in a whisper; “let no one hear us.  Dost thou think that I have ceased to watch over thy safety because I could not win thy love?  I have seen Taee.  He has not prevailed with his father, who had meanwhile conferred with the three sages who, in doubtful matters, he takes into council, and by their advice he has ordained thee to perish when the world re-awakens to life.  I will save thee.  Rise and dress.”

Zee pointed to a table by the couch on which I saw the clothes I had worn on quitting the upper world, and which I had exchanged subsequently for the more picturesque garments of the Vril-ya.  The young Gy then moved towards the casement and stepped into the balcony, while hastily and wonderingly I donned my own habiliments.  When I joined her on the balcony, her face was pale and rigid.  Taking me by the hand, she said softly, “See how brightly the art of the Vril-ya has lighted up the world in which they dwell.  To-morrow the world will be dark to me.”  She drew me back into the room without waiting for my answer, thence into the corridor, from which we descended into the hall.  We passed into the deserted streets and along the broad upward road which wound beneath the rocks.  Here, where there is neither day nor night, the Silent Hours are unutterably solemn—­the vast space illumined by mortal skill is so wholly without the sight and stir of mortal life.  Soft as were our footsteps, their sounds vexed the ear, as out of harmony with the universal repose.  I was aware in my own mind, though Zee said it not, that she had decided to assist my return to the upper world, and that we were bound towards the place from which I had descended.  Her silence infected me and commanded mine.  And now we approached the chasm.  It had been re-opened; not presenting, indeed, the same aspect as when I had emerged from it, but through that closed wall of rock before which I had last stood with Taee, a new clift had been riven, and along its blackened sides still glimmered sparks and smouldered embers.  My upward gaze could not, however, penetrate more than a few feet into the darkness of the hollow void, and I stood dismayed, and wondering how that grim ascent was to be made.

Zee divined my doubt.  “Fear not,” said she, with a faint smile; “your return is assured.  I began this work when the Silent Hours commenced, and all else were asleep; believe that I did not paused till the path back into thy world was clear.  I shall be with thee a little while yet.  We do not part until thou sayest, ‘Go, for I need thee no more.’”