so—­for example, you want to gain knowledge apart from and independently of Rafel Santoris, yet you are an incomplete identity without him!  The women of your day all follow this vicious policy—­the desire to be independent and apart from men—­which is the suicide of their nobler selves.  None of them are complete creatures without their stronger halves—­they are like deformed birds with only one wing,—­and a straight flight is impossible to them.”

He ceased, and I looked up.

“Whether I agree with you or not hardly matters,”—­I said—­“I admit all my faults and am ready to amend them.  But I want to learn from you all that I may—­all that you think I am capable of learning—­and I promise absolute obedience—­”

A slight smile lightened his eyes.

“And humility?”

I bent my head.

“And humility!”

“You are resolved, then?”

“I am resolved!”

He paused a moment, then appeared to make up his mind.

“So be it!” he said—­“But on your own head be your own mischance, if any mischance should happen!  I take no responsibility.  Of your own will you have come here—­of your own will you elect to stay here, where there is no one of your own sex with whom you can communicate--and of your own will you must accept all the consequences.  Is that agreed?”

His steel-blue eyes flashed with an almost supernatural brilliancy as he put the question, and I was conscious of a sense of fear.  But I conquered this and answered simply: 

“It is agreed!”

He gave me a keen glance that swept me as it were from head to foot--then turning from me abruptly, struck a handle on his desk which set a loud bell clanging in some outer corridor.  My former guide entered almost immediately, and Aselzion addressed him: 

“Honorius,”—­he said—­“show this lady to her room, She will follow the course of a probationer and student”—­as he spoke, Honorius gave me a look of undisguised amazement and pity—­“The moment she desires to leave, every facility for her departure is to be granted to her.  As long as she remains under instruction the rule for her, as you know, is solitude and silence.”

I looked at him, and thought how swiftly his face had changed.  It was no longer softened by the grave benevolence and kindness that had sustained my courage,—­a stern shadow darkened it, and his eyes were averted.  I saw I was expected to leave the room, but I hesitated.

“You will let me thank you,”—­I murmured, holding out my hands timidly—­almost pleadingly.

He turned to me slowly and took my hands in his own.

“Poor child, you have nothing to thank me for!”—­he said.  “Bear in mind, as one of your first lessons in the difficult way you are going, that you have nothing to thank anyone for, and nothing to blame anyone for in the shaping of your destiny but—­Yourself!  Go!—­ and may you conquer your enemy!”