CONCLUSION
For ten years I neither saw nor heard anything of Sydney or Vera, but this did not surprise me. I knew that they were both at Aphar, and that the girl was learning the mysteries of spiritual power which should in time enable her to gain at least some of the knowledge which the man, who had loved and watched over her so long, possessed. I was also confident that some day I should see them again before their spirits were united and passed away from earth.
My confidence was justified.
I was sitting alone one evening when Sydney entered the room. He was much changed. His hair was quite white, his face more calm, more noble than when we parted; but his expression told of such perfect happiness and contentment that even to look at him brought a feeling of peace.
"I have come at last, you see," he said, as he shook me warmly by the hand.
I told him how delighted I was, and that I had looked forward for years to this meeting. "But where," I continued, "is Vera? Did you not bring her after all?"
"Oh yes," he replied.
Even as he spoke the door opened, and the girl stood before us. I had been prepared for a good deal; I remembered the child, and felt quite certain that as she grew up she would be very beautiful; but I had never conceived it possible that any human form could be so lovely as the one that now stood before me.
The girl was clothed in a loose flowing robe of dazzling white, which was fastened at the breast by a brooch in which shone a luminous transparent stone similar to the one which Sydney had described as worn at Aphar by the high priestess; but notwithstanding the test of such a contrast, her complexion looked more pure, more ethereal than it is possible to conceive in any setting. It seemed as though alabaster had been faintly tinted with the pearly shade of the most delicate rose-leaf. As she came forward each movement told of perfectly developed bodily strength and graceful power, while the clear brightness of her deep blue eyes and the warm colour of her lips showed how health alone can give the true finish without which the most perfect beauty is marred, or for the time partially lost. Yet with all her charm of attraction she seemed as unconscious of the effect produced by her as though she were still a little child. She came up to me with both her hands held out, and taking one of mine into each of hers, looked up with a bright smile into my face.
"Perhaps you think," she said, "that I have forgotten you; but if so you are mistaken. It is ten years ago, and I was only seven then, but Alan has taken care to keep my memory fresh, and sometimes he has let me see you."