higher progress,—­her inherent childishness—­her delight in imagining herself wronged or neglected,—­her absurd way of attaching weighty importance to the merest trifles—­her want of balance, and the foolish resentment she feels at being told any of her faults,—­ this is all past in you, and you stand free of the shackles of sheer stupidity which makes so many women impossible to deal with from a man’s standpoint, and which renders it almost necessary for men to estimate them at a low intellectual standard.  For even in the supreme passion of love, millions of women are only capable of understanding its merely physical side, while the union of soul with soul is never consummated: 

     Where is that love supreme
    In which souls meet?  Where is it satisfied? 
      En-isled on heaving sands
        Of lone desire, spirit to spirit cries,
        While float across the skies
      Bright phantoms of fair lands,
    Where fancies fade not and where dreams abide.”

His voice dropped to the softest musical cadence, and I looked up.  He answered my look.

“Dear one!” he said, “You shall go to the House of Aselzion, and with you will be the future!”

He let go my hand very gently—­I felt a sudden sense of utter loneliness.

“You do not—­you will not misjudge me?” I said.

“I!  Dear, I have made so many errors of judgment in the past and I have lost you so many times, that I shall do nothing now which might lose you again!”

He smiled, and for one moment I was impelled to throw hesitation to the winds and say all that I knew in my inmost self ought to be said,—­but my rebellious will held me back, and I remained silent,—­ while he turned away and rejoined the rest of the party, with whom he was soon chatting in such a cheery, easy fashion that they appeared to forget that there was anything remarkable about him or about his wonderful vessel, which had now turned on her course and was carrying us back to Loch Scavaig at a speed which matched the fleetest wind.  When she arrived at her former anchorage just opposite the ‘Diana,’ we saw that all the crew of Mr. Harland’s yacht were on deck watching our movements, which must have been well worth watching considering what an amazing spectacle the ‘Dream’ made of herself and her glittering sails against the dark loch and mountains,—­so brilliant indeed as almost to eclipse the very moon.  But the light began to pale as soon as we dropped anchor, and very soon faded out completely, whereupon the sailors hauled down canvas, uttering musical cries as they pulled and braced it together.  This work done, they retired, and a couple of servants waited upon our party, bringing wine and fruit as a parting refreshment before we said good-night,—­and once again the sweet voice of the Egyptian boy singer smote upon our ears, with a prelude of harp-strings: 

Good-night,—­farewell!  If it should chance that nevermore we meet, Remember that the hours we spent together here were sweet!