Dirk's throat was dry, his mind confusion. He said, "Must ... must I, then, be the one to judge, Rima? She saved my life ... or tried to. Were it not for her—"
Rima said gently, "You love her. Isn't that what you mean, Dirk?"
Dirk's head turned slowly; his eyes met those of the Princess Lenore. And what he found there forced the answer from his lips.
"Yes, Rima. May the gods help me ... I love her."
"That," said the Nadronian girl, "I know. And this also I know ... that she loves you. Does she love you enough to join you in the new world which is the only one whereon you now can live? Enough to join you on Nadron?"
It was Lenore who answered that question. She said simply, "I do not understand your meaning, woman who dwells in a column of flame ... but this much I do know. Where Dirk Morris dwells, there would I dwell also."
Rima nodded, satisfied.
"That, too, I had expected. It is well. She will make you a good mate, Dirk Morris. I wish—" There was a strange catch in her voice, a catch clenched teeth upon her lower lip could not quite stifle—"I wish you ... much joy ... in my lost, beloved homeland—"
Dirk stared at her aghast, uncomprehending. "Rima!" he cried. "Lost homeland? I don't understand—"
The maid of Nadron smiled wanly. Her voice, when she spoke, was infinitely gentle.