Then for some distance we walked on in silence.
The sun was setting behind the high peaked hills with a glorious speaking silence. I had never seen such purple clouds—such red and pink and gold embodied in a sky. They cast their reflection on the spot we walked on and dyed Vestasian’s garments and my own. It was the stilly point of eve, and none but ourselves walked toward the great gates that bound the city. And suddenly he stopped, and turning, looked at me.
“The sun is setting. Nature’s wearying repetition never wearies. Would by the Godhead that encircles us that I were never weary too. I have lived the long hard life that fills eternity, and to me there comes a never-ending circle of unavailing pain. I have stood it time on time and never wearied, and because I have not murmured they have imagined I bore well with it and cared not, felt not. What! Can anyone have the life nerves torn from him and have no pain nor feeling in the process? I have loved to that strong ecstasy to which only spirits come—and that love has filled my being. And then when life should be begun and our true nuptials celebrated, gradually the unseen shadow has crept in and dragged the vital strength away—inch by inch. For what am I without this lovely spirit that twines and intermingles with my own? What am I, or what shall be? Without her I am nothing—inanimate laws and intellect and beauty intermingled without the quickening grace to make a perfect whole. I cannot bear to see her die. It sickens me even to the death to let her go. While she is there my whole heart lives in her; when gone its throbs beat on a hardened bark that has no softness such as it had when she was there to charm away the pain. At times it comes to me to offer the great sacrifice—to give up all and let her go for ever—to transform myself to Nature’s laws and passing beauty—even to be part of such sunsets as you see o’er there against the hills. Then comes the whole absorbing passion. I cannot let her go—I will not—and the ensuing weakness. For as the dark hour deepens she must pass torn from my side as never flesh and blood were torn from mortal. They never know the depth of half my love, and think because I only realise the half I only feel it. Ah! Genius, you will recognise my weakness—born from a jest which has enveloped me.”
In silence he led me on towards the gate.
There outside, on the wild, glorious moorland, sat a figure robed in white.
Seeing us she rose and came toward us.
This was the shadowy, heavenly beauty I had dreamt of. A face more perfect I had never seen, nor eyes more sweet and star-like, nor lips more sweetly parted in that tender smile, half mirth, half pathos. Round her slight waist a belt of shimmering jewels shone, and one great jewel at her breast. The straying pink of roses played upon her cheek and faded into white, shaded by eyes so deeply and so softly blue that one forgot their colour in their depths and longed to live in them. Her smooth brow was shaded by soft hair, each in itself a tendril of pure gold having the red glint out of it; but faintly here and there, to make a perfect colouring.
I could no longer doubt her.
On my knees I took her hands within my own and kissed them, and tears fell from my eyes, the first in all my life.