“Call it ‘Maya’ if you like; but ‘Maya,’ Brahm’s wife, illusion, made the universe visible to him. So say those ancient mythologians. I can see nothing without my Miriamne!”
“Oh, man, hold; nor pain me further! I cannot help you. How can I, since my own chosen work seems too great for me! I’m like a mere shell, drifting with the tides, without sail or helm; the harbor unknown. I only know I carry a precious pearl, truth, and that there are those who need it. I must bear it to them.”
“I’m a shell, without helm or sail, and have the same pearl. Let me voyage with you.”
“And—what?”
“In all brevity—marry me!”
“That cannot be, I fear. I’d rather be the——. Can’t I be your ideal as Mary?” She blundered amid her efforts to express herself, and the tell-tale blush betokened defeat.
“Yes; be my Mary, and let me take the place as your Joseph. Mary was a wife and mother. The greatest of God’s works in the old dispensation was to translate men; in the new dispensation, seeking to surpass the old, He presented a perfect woman, in her highest estate, as the queen of a home!”
The woman was silent for time. There then seemed to her to be two Miriamnes, and the debate was transferred from being between the young man and herself to these two which she seemed to be. One Miriamne said “Yield,” one “Be firm.” One said, “He has the better reasons,” one said “Nay;” one said, “It is pleasant to be overcome,” the other said “Maya, Maya, Maya!” Then recovering herself she exclaimed, “I wish the priest were here; he’d guide us by the Divine word.”
“I have a holy text,” and drawing a line at a venture, the youth repeated these words: