“In the tree flows the sap, yet what knows the great tree it nurtures of the sap?  In the world’s womb burns the fire that gives life, yet what of the fire knows the glorious earth it conceived and will destroy; in the heavens the great globes swing through space and rest not, yet what know they of the Strength that sent them spinning and in a time to come will stay their mighty motions, or turn them to another course?  Therefore of everything this all-present god is judge, or rather, not one but many judges, since of each living creature he makes its own magistrate to deal out justice according to that creature’s law which in the beginning the god established for it and decreed.  Thus in the breast of everyone there is a rule and by that rule, at work through a countless chain of lives, in the end he shall be lifted up to Heaven, or bound about and cast down to Hell and death.”

“You mean a conscience,” I suggested rather feebly, for her thoughts and images overpowered me.

“Aye, a conscience, if thou wilt, and canst only understand that term, though it fits my theme but ill.  This is my meaning, that consciences, as thou namest them, are many.  I have one; thou, Allan, hast another; that black Axe-bearer has a third; the little yellow man a fourth, and so on through the tale of living things.  For even a dog such as thou sawest has a conscience and—­like thyself or I—­must in the end be its own judge, because of the spark that comes to it from above, the same spark which in me burns as a great fire, and in thee as a smouldering ember of green wood.”

“When you sit in judgment on yourself in a day to come, Ayesha,” I could not help interpolating, “I trust that you will remember that humility did not shine among your virtues.”

She smiled in her vivid way—­only twice or thrice did I see her smile thus and then it was like a flash of summer lightning illumining a clouded sky, since for the most part her face was grave and even sombre.

“Well answered,” she said.  “Goad the patient ox enough and even it will grow fierce and paw the ground.

“Humility!  What have I to do with it, O Allan?  Let humility be the part of the humble-souled and lowly, but for those who reign as I do, and they are few indeed, let there be pride and the glory they have earned.  Now I have told thee of the Truth thou sawest in thy vision and wouldst thou hear the Lesson?”

“Yes,” I answered, “since I may as well be done with it at once, and doubtless it will be good for me.”

“The Lesson, Allan, is one which thou preachest—­humility.  Vain man and foolish as thou art, thou didst desire to travel the Underworld in search of certain ones who once were all in all to thee—­nay, not all in all since of them there were two or more—­but at least much.  Thus thou wouldst do because, as thou saidest, thou didst seek to know whether they still lived on beyond the gates of Blackness.  Yes, thou saidest this, but what thou didst hope to learn in truth was whether they lived on in thee and for thee only.  For thou, thou in thy vanity, didst picture these departed souls as doing naught in that Heaven they had won, save think of thee still burrowing on the earth, and, at times lightening thy labours with kisses from other lips than theirs.”