of a woman must meet,—­must rush together,—­not all the forces of the universe can hinder them; aye, even if they were, for some conventional cause or circumstance themselves reluctant to consummate their destiny, it would nevertheless, despite them, be consummated.  For mark you,—­ in some form or other they have rushed together before!  Whether as flames in the air, or twining leaves on a tree, or flowers in a field, they have felt the sweetness and fitness of each other’s being in former lives,—­and the craving sense of that sweetness and fitness can never be done away with,—­never!  Not as long as this present universe lasts!  It is a terrible thing,” continued the Doctor in a lower tone, “a terrible fatality,—­the desire of love.  In some cases it is a curse; in others, a divine and priceless blessing.  The results depend entirely on the temperaments of the human creatures possessed by its fever.  When it kindles, rises and burns towards Heaven in a steady flame of ever-brightening purity and faith, then it makes marriage the most perfect union on earth,—­the sweetest and most blessed companionship; but when it is a mere gust of fire, bright and fierce as the sudden leaping light of a volcano, then it withers everything at a touch,—­faith, honor, truth,—­and dies into dull ashes in which no spark remains to warm or inspire man’s higher nature.  Better death than such a love,—­for it works misery on earth; but who can tell what horrors it may not create Hereafter!”

The Princess looked at him with a strange, weird gleam in her dark eyes.

“You are right,” she said.  “It is just the Hereafter that men never think of.  I am glad you, at least, acknowledge the truth of the life beyond death.”

“I am bound to acknowledge it,” returned the Doctor; “inasmuch as I know it exists.”

Gervase glanced at him with a smile, in which there was something of contempt.

“You are very much behind the age, Doctor,” he remarked lightly.

“Very much behind indeed,” agreed Dr. Dean composedly.  “The age rushes on too rapidly for me, and gives no time to the consideration of things by the way.  I stop,—­I take breathing space in which to think; life without thought is madness, and I desire to have no part in a mad age.”

At that moment they entered the Red Saloon, a stately apartment, which was entirely modelled after the most ancient forms of Egyptian architecture.  The centre of the vast room was quite clear of furniture, so that the Princess Ziska’s guests went wandering up and down, to and fro, entirely at their ease, without crush or inconvenience, and congregated in corners for conversation; though if they chose they could recline on low divans and gorgeously-cushioned benches ranged against the walls and sheltered by tall palms and flowering exotics.  The music was heard to better advantage here than in the hall where the company had first been received; and as the Princess moved to a seat under the pale green frondage of a huge