“Thou seest,” I said in a whisper.

“I see,” she answered hoarsely.  “He is saved.  I thought we were too late—­another moment—­one little moment more—­and he had been gone!” and she burst into an awful flood of tears, sobbing as though her heart would break, and yet looking lovelier than ever as she did it.  As last she ceased.

“Forgive me, my Holly—­forgive me for my weakness,” she said.  “Thou seest after all I am a very woman.  Think—­now think of it!  This morning didst thou speak of the place of torment appointed by this new religion of thine.  Hell or Hades thou didst call it—­a place where the vital essence lives and retains an individual memory, and where all the errors and faults of judgment, and unsatisfied passions and the unsubstantial terrors of the mind wherewith it hath at any time had to do, come to mock and haunt and gibe and wring the heart for ever and for ever with the vision of its own hopelessness.  Thus, even thus, have I lived for full two thousand years—­for some six and sixty generations, as ye reckon time—­in a Hell, as thou callest it—­tormented by the memory of a crime, tortured day and night with an unfulfilled desire—­without companionship, without comfort, without death, and led on only down my dreary road by the marsh lights of Hope, which, though they flickered here and there, and now glowed strong, and now were not, yet, as my skill told me, would one day lead unto my deliverer.

“And then—­think of it still, oh Holly, for never shalt thou hear such another tale, or see such another scene, nay, not even if I give thee ten thousand years of life—­and thou shalt have it in payment if thou wilt—­think:  at last my deliverer came—­he for whom I had watched and waited through the generations—­at the appointed time he came to seek me, as I knew that he must come, for my wisdom could not err, though I knew not when or how.  Yet see how ignorant I was!  See how small my knowledge, and how faint my strength!  For hours he lay there sick unto death, and I felt it not—­I who had waited for him for two thousand years—­I knew it not.  And then at last I see him, and behold, my chance is gone but by a hair’s breadth even before I have it, for he is in the very jaws of death, whence no power of mine can draw him.  And if he die, surely must the Hell be lived through once more—­once more must I face the weary centuries, and wait, and wait till the time in its fulness shall bring my Beloved back to me.  And then thou gavest him the medicine, and that five minutes dragged long before I knew if he would live or die, and I tell thee that all the sixty generations that are gone were not so long as that five minutes.  But they passed at length, and still he showed no sign, and I knew that if the drug works not then, so far as I have had knowledge, it works not at all.  Then thought I that he was once more dead, and all the tortures of all the years gathered themselves into a single venomed spear, and pierced me through and through, because again I had lost Kallikrates!  And then, when all was done, behold! he sighed, behold! he lived, and I knew that he would live, for none die on whom the drug takes hold.  Think of it now, my Holly—­think of the wonder of it!  He will sleep for twelve hours and then the fever will have left him!”