“Not so!”—­she told me—­“You are under a very serious delusion.  You are here by the wicked will of Rafel Santoris—­a man who would sacrifice any life remorselessly in the support of his own mad theories!  You are under his influence, you poor creature!—­so easily trapped, too!—­you think you are following your own way and carrying out your own wishes, but you are really the slave of Santoris and have been so ever since you met him.  You are a mere instrument on which he can play any tune.”  And she turned to the old man beside her with an appealing gesture—­“Is it not so?”

He bent his head in the affirmative.

For a moment my brain was in a whirl.  Could it be possible that what they said was true?  Their looks were sincere,—­they could have no object but kindness in warning me of intended mischief.  I tried to conceal the torturing anxiety that possessed me, and asked quietly—­

“If you have good reason to think all this, what would you advise me to do?  If I am in danger how shall I escape from it?”

The woman looked curiously at me, and her eyes glittered with sudden interest.  Her venerable companion replied to my question—­

“Escape is quite easy here and now.  You have only to follow us and we will take you out of this wood and escort you to a place of safety.  Then you can return to your own home and forget—­”

“Forget what?” I interrupted him.

“All this foolishness”—­he answered, with a gentle seriousness—­ “This idea of eternal life and love which the artful conjurer Rafel Santoris has instilled into your too sensitive and credulous imagination—­these fantastic beliefs in the immortality and individuality of the soul,—­and you will accept old age and death with the sane resignation of ordinary mortals.  Such love as he professes to believe in does not exist,—­such life can never be,—­ and the secret of his youth—­”

“Ah!” I exclaimed eagerly—­“Tell me of that!  And of Aselzion’s splendid prime when he should be old and feeble?  Tell me of that also!”

For the first time during this interview, my two companions looked confused.  I saw this, and I gained confidence from their evident embarrassment.

“Why,” I pursued—­“should you come to me with warnings against those whom God or Destiny has brought into my life?  You may perhaps say that you yourselves have been sent by God—­but does Deity contradict Itself?  I am not conscious of having suffered any evil through Rafel Santoris or through Aselzion—­I am pained and perplexed and tortured by what I hear and see—­but my hearing and sight are capable of being deceived—­why should I think of evil things which are not proved?”

The woman surveyed me with sudden scorn.

“So you will stay here, the dupe of your own sentiments and dreams!”—­she said, contemptuously—­“You, a woman, will remain among a community of men who are known impostors, and sacrifice your name and reputation to a mere chimera!”