But Miriam bent her head upon Lamara’s bosom and wept.
“I have no strength for more farewells,” she said. “I can have faith that there may be happiness for me; but it shines so far away, and the path to it seems so lonely, and I am so weary of journeying, and fear of myself is so heavy upon me, that I wish to be put upon my way at once. If I delayed here, my heart would still seek for my beloved, and I could find no rest.
“I know”—she looked sadly at Solarion—“that, after all is done, I may not find him; but there is comfort in the seeking; to pause and turn aside even among you, friends who are so dear, would breed shadows in me which would throw their darkness over you. Your world is too bright and great for me. My mind cannot compass it; my nature is not formed to its measure; its joys are all too sublime, its thoughts too profound. Had you not—as I feel you have—screened its full splendors from my senses, I could not have endured them.
“God, I think, fashions each of us to fit the world to which we are born, and has made the spaces that separate them so vast as an admonition to us to hold to our own. I can bring to my home people no message wiser than this. They are restless and ambitious and reach out after remote and hidden things; they create wealth and torture Nature to make her reveal her secrets; in their anxiety to miss no gain and lose no pleasure, they hurry to and fro, and perish in pursuit of a fantom whose substance was all the while beside them. I have shared their errors; but among you I have gathered some truth.
“The only knowledge that enriches comes from within; all that is immortally loveable comes to us as spontaneously and simply as the songs of birds and the perfume and colors of flowers. You have taught me much; but he from whom I have learned most is the one whom I had least regarded till near the end; the little being whose only self was his loyalty to others, who made the great voyage from no motive but to serve those he loved; and, when his end was gained, died with a smile on his lips in the act of resigning his last chance of life to insure their safety. Your Nature people have taken his body; I pray God that I may have become worthy, when I die, to be near the place where God keeps his soul!”
Solarion and Lamara exchanged a glance.
“The flowers on Jim’s grave,” Solarion said, “will draw their perfume and beauty from the pure devotion which the rough rind of his nature concealed. Death discloses the loveliness in him which was disguised while he lived by the veil of his humility. He is a word of the spirit, spoken through the letter of a humble and mutilated body, which being now interpreted, will sweeten and enlighten the world.”
“Nevertheless,” observed Lamara—and something in her tone caused a secret hope to stir in Miriam’s heart—“not every flower owes its bloom and fragrance to a grave!”
With Aunion preceding, the friends now entered the amphitheater, whose august interior was first revealed to Miriam. But it was no longer filled with countless thousands of human creatures, nor did the judges sit upon their thrones. Instead, the enormous crater of the auditorium was thronged from base to summit with roses of all tints; the vines clambered luxuriantly from bench to bench, peeped from every aperture, blushed and blanched from side to side of the sun-steeped bowl, and tossed their joyful faces toward the sky from the topmost parapets. From the fervent gold of their hearts was dispensed an incense that seemed to find its way into the very soul of the beholder and to feed the inmost springs of life with sumptuous delight. The soft yet imperial splendor of each blossom added its gracious potency to its neighbors, till the whole arena palpitated in an apotheosis of the flower-queen—the rapturous triumph of the immortal rose. To breathe was ecstasy; and the eye drank unappeasable drafts of delicate intoxication. As Miriam moved forward, her spirit subdued to a harmonious tranquility, the rich notes of nightingales welled out upon her ear, transmuting by their alchemy the realms of color and perfume into song.
And now, bestowed by what hand she knew not, she felt the clustering of roses on her head; their petals caressed her cheeks; the heavy blooms mantled her shoulders and trailed even to her feet; no bride prepared for her nuptials was ever so attired. She was drawing near to a bower erected in the center of the arena—a structure woven of roses, white as a virgin’s soul without, within rose red as the pure passion of her heart. Into that glow she entered, and found a golden altar, before which she knelt and closed her eyes.