“Is it possible some unfinished spell of that red high priestess of the Druids plays this sport with me? Is it possible Blodwen’s abiding affection—stronger than time and changes—accompanies me from age to age in these her sweet ambassadors forever crossing my path? Tell me, you comely sleeper, tell me your embassy, which is it that lasts longest, life or love?”
Slowly again, to my surprise, those lips were parted, and across the silent cavern came, beyond mistake or question, the word—“Love!”
At this very echo of my thoughts I stared hard at her who answered so appropriately, but there could be no doubt Editha was asleep with an unusually deep and perfect forgetfulness, and when I had assured myself of this it was only possible for me to suppose those whispered words were some delusion, the echo of my questioning.
Again I brooded, and then presently looked up, and there—by Thor and Odin! ’twas as I write it—between me and the bare earth and tangled rootlets of the cavern side, over against the fitful sparkle of the fire, was a thin impalpable form that oscillated gently to the draughts creeping along the floor, and grew taller and taller, and took mortal air and shape, and rose out of nebulous indistinctness into a fine ethereal substance, and was clothed and visaged by the concentration of its impalpable material, and there at last, smiling and gentle, in the flicker of the camp-fire, the gray shadow of my British Princess stood before me!
That man was never brave who has not feared, and then for a moment I feared, leaping to my feet and staggering back against the wall under the terrible sweetness of those eyes that burned into my being with a relentless fire that I could not have shunned if I would, and would not if I could. For some time I was thus motionless and fascinated, and then the gentle shadow, who had been regarding me intently, appeared to perceive the cause of my enthrallment, and lifting a shapely arm of lavender-colored essence for a minute veiled the terrible bewitchment of her face. Shrewd, observant shadow! As she did so I was myself again—my blood welled into my empty veins, my heart knocked fiercely at my ribs, and when Blodwen lowered her hand there seemed to me endless enchantment but nothing dreadful in the glance of kindly wonder with which her eyes met mine.
Surely it was as strange an encounter as ever there had been—the little rocky recess all ruddy and shadowy in the dancing flames; the silent white Saxon girl there on the heaped-up rushes, her breast heaving like a summer sea with a long, smooth undulation; and I against the stones, one hand on my dagger and the other outspread fearful on the wall, scarce knowing whether I were brave or not, while over against the eddying smoke—calm, passive, happy, immutable, was that winsome presence, shining in our dusky shelter with a tender violet light, such as was never kindled by mortal means.
When I found voice to speak I poured forth my longings and pent-up spirit in many a reckless question, but to all of them the Princess made no answer. Then I spread my arms and thought to grasp her, and ever as they nearly closed upon her she moved backward, now here and now there, mocking my foolish hope and passing impalpable over the floor, always gentle and compassionate, until the uselessness of the pursuit at last dawned upon me, and I stood irresolute.
I little doubt that immaterial immortal would have mustered courage or strength to speak to me presently, but the sleeping girl sighed heavily at this moment and seemed so ill at ease that, without a thought, I turned to look at her. When my eyes sought the opposite side of the fire again the presence was not half herself: under my very glance she was being absorbed once more by the dusky air. To let her go like that was all against my will, and, leaping to those printless feet, “Princess! Wife!” I called, “stay another moment!” and as I said it I swept my arms round the last vestige of her airy kirtle, and drew into my bosom an armful of empty air!
She had gone, and not a sign was left—not a palm’s breadth of that lovely sheen shone against the wall as I arose ashamed from my knee and noticed Editha was awaking.
“My kind protector,” said that damsel, “I have been feeling so strange—not dreaming quite, but feeling as though some one were borrowing existence of me, yet leaving in my body the blood and pulse of life. Now, how can this be? I must surely have been very tired yesterday.”