And in that long dear kiss I could feel the rhythm of her measured words, and all the depth of feeling that prompted them—words that moved me more than any I have ever heard in all my life; and in the silences that followed as we sat in the firelight glow I could almost hear the echo of her words ringing down the long avenue of years in front, like the music of the stars above—unchanging, undying rhythm down the trackless vaults of time.
At last Aryenis stood up, smoothing the ruffled coils of the burnished copper of her hair, slim arms outlined against the dark wood panelling. I was going to get up, too, when she bent over and kissed me, whispering as she pushed me back on to my seat:
“I want you to look for pictures in the fire just a little while, Harilek. All the things you’ve seen since you came to Sakaeland, and then come and tell me what you’ve found.”
And with another kiss she was gone.
So for a while I sat still in front of the glowing logs, and picture after picture came up into my mind: Aryenis of that morning, Aryenis of the mauve ribbons, Aryenis of the desert days, and through and with them all Aryenis of the sunlit Aornos road—the dearest best companion that ever man could have—until finally I went up the dark wood stairs to the big dressing-room next to our bedroom, where the lamplight glittered on my mail and weapons and on the carved presses round the walls.
Still with my fireside pictures fresh in my mind, I blew out the little silver lamp and passed into our room—with the dancing firelight playing on the warm hangings, and throwing long shadows on the rug-strewn floor.
And then—all my pictures faded and merged into one, now crystallized from vision into warm living reality.
“How very, very beautiful you are, Shahzadi!” I whispered, awe-struck.
“I want you to say that to me every day of my life—husband,” said Aryenis.
THE END