“No, for in such things there is no finality, since whatever one saw would also require explanation.”

“Don’t let us argue,” she replied.  “It is tiring and I daresay we shall need all our strength to-night.”

I looked at her speechless.  Why could she not take No for an answer?  As usual she read my thought and replied to it.

“Why did not Adam refuse the apple that Eve offered him?” she inquired musingly.  “Or rather why did he eat it after many refusals and learn the secret of good and evil, to the great gain of the world which thenceforward became acquainted with the dignity of labour?”

“Because the woman tempted him,” I snapped.

“Quite so.  It has always been her business in life and always will be.  Well, I am tempting you now, and not in vain.”

“Do you remember who was tempting the woman?”

“Certainly.  Also that he was a good school-master since he caused the thirst for knowledge to overcome fear and thus laid the foundation-stone of all human progress.  That allegory may be read two ways, as one of a rise from ignorance instead of a fall from innocence.”

“You are too clever for me with your perverted notions.  Also, you said we were not to argue.  I have therefore only to repeat that I will not eat your apple, or rather, breathe your Taduki.”

“Adam over again,” she replied, shaking her head.  “The same old beginning and the same old end, because you see at last you will do exactly what Adam did.”

Here she rose and standing over me, looked me straight in the eyes with the curious result that all my will power seemed to evaporate.  Then she sat down again, laughing softly, and remarked as though to herself,

“Who would have thought that Allan Quatermain was a moral coward!”

“Coward,” I repeated.  “Coward!”

“Yes, that’s the right word.  At least you were a minute ago.  Now courage has come back to you.  Why, it’s almost time to dress for dinner, but before you go, listen.  I have some power over you, my friend, as you have some power over me, for I tell you frankly if you wished me very much to do anything, I should have to do it; and the same applies conversely.  Now, to-night we are, as I believe, going to open a great gate and to see wonderful things, glorious things that will thrill us for the rest of our lives, and perhaps suggest to us what is coming after death.  You will not fail me, will you?” she continued in a pleading voice.  “If you do I must try alone since no one else will serve, and then I know—­how I cannot say—­that I shall be exposed to great danger.  Yes, I think that I shall lose my mind once more and never find it again this side the grave.  You would not have that happen to me, would you, just because you shrink from digging up old memories?”

“Of course not,” I stammered.  “I should never forgive myself.”

“Yes, of course not.  There was really no need for me to ask you.  Then you promise you will do all I wish?” and once more she looked at me, adding, “Don’t be ashamed, for you remember that I have been in touch with hidden things and am not quite as other women are.  You will recollect I told you that which I have never breathed to any other living soul, years ago on that night when first we met.”