“Death claimed nothing but the physical body,” said Akaza, softly. “She feels not its loss. Look at her serene countenance. Wouldst thou spare her pain?”
Yermah cast a reproachful glance at Akaza.
“Canst thou ask the question?”
“Then master and control thy feeling. She can only manifest by absorbing thy magnetism. If thou wouldst see her at will, thou must give of thy strength freely.”
“And she does not know that she is out of the body?” asked Yermah, eagerly.
“No. She never will, unless thy indulgence in grief plunges her into the vortex of pain, which is now thy portion.”
“By all that I hold sacred—by all I love, hope and fear, she never shall!” exclaimed Yermah, rising.
On his face was the uplifting and exaltation of a saint.
“O Kerœcia! Core of my heart! I am ready for thy spirit to flutter over me! Never can I be sad with the knowledge of thy sweet presence.”
He stood in rapt attention, communing long and silently with the beatific vision. There was not a trace of care in her benign expression. She had solved the mystery and knew the truth.