"You'll come, Edward, won't you? You'll come too."
"Of course," he answered. But it was a song he heard, and no dull spoken words. She ran dancing towards him through a million flowers; her hair flew loose along the scented winds; her white limbs glowed with fire. He danced to meet her. It was in the Valley that he caught her hands and met her eyes. "It's happened," he heard himself saying. "It's happened at last—just as you said it must. Escape! He has escaped!"
"But we shall follow after—when the time comes, Edward."
"Where the wild bee never flew!"...
"When the time comes," she repeated.
Her voice, her smile, her eyes brought him back sharply into the little room. The furniture showed up again. The Valley faded. He noticed suddenly that for the first time she wore no flowers in her dress as usual.
"Iraida!" he exclaimed. "Then—you knew!"
She bent her head, smiling divinely. She took both his hands in hers. At her touch every obstacle between them melted. His own private, personal inhibition he saw as the trivial barriers a little child might raise. His complex against humanity, as Paul called it, had disappeared. Their minds, their beings, their natures became most strangely one, he felt, and yet quite naturally. There was nothing they did not share.
"With the first dawn," he heard her say in a low voice. "Never—never again," he seemed to hear, "shall we destroy his—their—work of ages."
"A flower," he whispered, "has no need to wear a flower!" He was convinced that she too had shared an experience similar to his own, perhaps had even seen the bright, marvellous Deva faces peering, shining.... He did not ask. She said no more. Life flowed between them in an untroubled stream....