I did indeed. And she had never wavered in that love, from the days when he had seized the little blind child and whirled her in the air.
Our return to earth? We never made it. With Dr. Weatherby’s death, the grave held the vital knowledge we needed for such a journey. Nor did we desire it. Our lives were cast here.
Often now, from earth, thought-waves reach me, tiny earth, rolling on with a speeding time so much faster than ours of this outer realm! Centuries have passed on earth. Of what use for me to return—a primitive, savage being of their past ages?
Civilizations have risen, held their peak, and declined. Great cities have come and gone. Ice has been again where once I saw the jungles of the tropics. And the ice has melted again through countless ages.
The new humans of earth often communicate with me. Their thoughts are amazed at what I have to tell them. It is all amazing to me, the great riddle of the universe. And I think sometimes of that ancient earth-astronomer, groping with the riddle, writing in his ancient book:
Man, the little god of this earth, tied down to the small star which infinite Nature gave him for an abode, storms forth into immeasurable stellar space with his thoughts.
From that little earth I stormed forth in body, beyond the stars!
