“In a way, yes, Yva. But I could not believe and turned from what I held to be a phantasy.”
“It was natural, Humphrey, that you should not believe. Hearken! In this temple a while ago I showed you a picture of myself and of a man who loved me and whom I loved, and of his death at Oro’s hands. Did you note anything about that man?”
“Bickley did,” I answered. “Was he right?”
“I think that he was right, since otherwise I should not have loved you, Humphrey.”
“I remember nothing of that man, Yva.”
“It is probable that you would not, since you and he are very far apart, while between you and him flow wide seas of death, wherein are set islands of life; perhaps many of them. But I remember much who seem to have left him but a very little while ago.”
“When you awoke in your coffin and threw your arms about me, what did you think, Yva?”
“I thought you were that man, Humphrey.”
There was silence between us and in that silence the truth came home to me. Then there before the effigy of Fate and in the desolate, glowing temple we plighted anew our troth made holy by a past that thus so wonderfully lived again.
Of this consecrated hour I say no more. Let each picture it as he will. A glory as of heaven fell upon us and in it we dwelt a space.