I met his enquiring glance fully and steadily.

“I think I do,”—­I said—­“You mean that I must stand alone?”

“Alone, yet not alone!”—­he answered, and his fine face was transfigured into light with its intense feeling and power—­“Alone with Love!—­which is to say alone with God, and therefore surrounded by all god-like, lasting and revivifying things.  You will go back from this place to the world of conventions,—­and you will meet a million influences to turn you from your chosen way.  Opinion, criticism, ridicule, calumny and downright misunderstanding—­these will come out against you like armed foes, bristling at every point with weapons of offence.  If you tell them of your quest of life and youth and love, and of your experience here, they will cover you with their mockery and derision—­if you were to breathe a word of the love between you and Rafel Santoris, a thousand efforts would be instantly made to separate you, one from the other, and snatch away the happiness you have won.  How will you endure these trials?—­what will be your method of action?”

I thought a moment.

“The same that I have tried to practise here”—­I answered—­“I shall believe nothing of ill report—­but only of good.”

He bent his eyes upon me searchingly.

“Remember,” he said—­“what force there is in a storm of opinion!  The fiercest gale that ever blew down strong trees and made havoc of men’s dwellings is a mere whisper compared with the fury of human minds set to destroy one heaven-aspiring soul!  Think of the petty grudge borne by the loveless against Love!—­the spite of the restless and unhappy against those who have won peace!  All this you will have to bear,—­for the world is envious—­and even a friend breaks down in the strength of friendship when thwarted or rendered jealous by a greater and more resistless power!” I sighed a little.

“I have few friends,”—­I said—­“Certainly none that have ever thought it worth while to know my inner and truest self.  Most of them are glad to be my friends if I go their way—­but if I choose a way of my own their ‘friendship’ becomes mere quarrel.  But I talk of choosing a way!  How can I choose—­yet?  You say my ordeal is not over?”

“It will be over to-night,”—­he answered—­“And I have every hope that you will pass through it unflinchingly.  You have not heard from Santoris?”

The question gave me a little thrill of surprise.

“Heard from him?—­No”—­I replied—­“He never suggested writing to me.”

Aselzion smiled.

“He is too closely in touch with you to need other correspondence,"- -he said—­“But be satisfied that he is safe and well.  No misadventure has befallen him.”

“Thank God!” I murmured.  “And—­if—­”

“If he loves you no more,”—­went on Aselzion—­“If he has made an ‘error of selection’ as the scientists would say, and is not even now sure of his predestined helper and inspirer whose love will lift him to the highest attainment—­what then?”