We were moving like the falling stars one journeys to the Dark Hemisphere to see.
"I should have found you all the same," he whispered, half laughing, but his blue eyes glistened. "I do not think that space itself could separate us."
"Oh, do you realize that?" I asked, "and do you really know?"
"I know I have you with me now," he said, "and that is all I care to know."
We were flying now, flying as comets fly to perihelion. The world about was slipping from us, disintegrating and dissolving into cosmic thoughts expressed in color. Only his eyes were actual, and the blue hills far away, and the wind from them in the key of the Pleiades.
"There shall never any more be time or space for us," he said.
"But," I protested, "we must not overlook the fundamental facts."
"In all the universe there is just one fact," he cried, catching my hand in his, and then—
(Note: Here a portion of the logogram becomes indecipherable, owing, perhaps, to the passage of some large bird across the line of projection. What follows is the last recorded vibragraph to date.)
—Yes, dear, I know I should have been more circumspect. I should have remembered my position, but I didn't. And that's why I'm engaged to be married.—You have to here, when you reach a certain point—I know you will think it a great come-down for one of us, but after all do we not owe something to our sister planets?—