"Indeed, I will try. I have seen so little of you, but I feel that I have known you always, and—yes—even I feel that it is true what you said," and she grew rosy with a sweet confusion—"that we were—lovers—I am so ignorant and undeveloped, not advanced like you, but when you speak you seem to awaken memories; it is as though a transitory light gleamed in dark places, and I receive flashes of understanding, and then it grows obscured again, but I will try to seize and hold it—indeed, I will try to do as you would wish."
They both looked ahead, straight at the splendid house, and then Amaryllis looked at Verisschenzko and it seemed as though his face were transfigured with some inward light.
"Strange things are coming, child, the cauldron has boiled over, and we do not know what the stream may engulf. Think of this evening in the days which will be, and remember my words."
His voice vibrated, but he did not look at her, but always across the lake at the house.
"Whenever you are in doubt as to the wisdom of a decision between two courses—put them to the test of which, if you follow it, will enable you to respect your own soul. Never do that which the inward You despises."
"And if both courses look equally good and it is merely a question of earthly benefit?"
Verisschenzko smiled.
"Never be vague. There is an Arab proverb which says: Trust in God but tie up your camel."
The setting sun was throwing its last gleams upon the windows of the high tower. Nothing more beautiful or impressive could have been imagined than the scene. The velvet lawn sloping down to the lake, with a group of trees to the right among which nestled the tiny cruciform ancient church, while in the distance, on all sides, stretched the vast, gloriously timbered park.
Verisschenzko gazed at the wonder of it, and his yellow-green eyes were wide with the vision it created in his brain.