“Yes, for another man it might be hard. You were once married, were you not, Humphrey, to a wife who died?”
“Yes, I was married.”
“And did you not swear to that wife that you would never look in love upon another woman?”
“I did,” I answered in a shamed voice. “But how do you know? I never told you so.”
“Oh! I know you and therefore guessed.”
“Well, what of it, Yva?”
“Nothing, except that you must find your wife before you love again, and before I love again I must find him whom I wish to be my husband.”
“How can that happen,” I asked, “when both are dead?”
“How did all that you have seen to-day in Nyo happen?” she replied, laughing softly. “Perhaps you are very blind, Humphrey, or perhaps we both are blind. If so, mayhap light will come to us. Meanwhile do not be sad. Tomorrow I will meet you and you shall teach me—your English tongue, Humphrey, and other things.”
“Then let it be in the sunlight, Yva. I do not love those darksome halls of Nyo that glow like something dead.”