“I cannot say. To be sure, one would have to die, and come back to life again.”
She rose up with her supple exquisite grace, and moved to the yacht’s side, and stood with one jeweled hand upon the taffrail looking over at the opposite shore of Asia, as from the thousand minarets of Stamboul came clear musical voices calling the Faithful to the prayer of afternoon.
“I am sure, because I once died, and returned to life again. And I came back out of that dim, strange country that lies beyond this world, with a secret to tell, and a gift to bestow. And he to whom I would tell my secret, and give my gift, had departed—where I know not! It may be we shall never meet on earth any more! And well for him if it were so! For I have come to believe that if he is ever to know peace or happiness, his path and mine must never cross again!”
What strange impulse of confidence moved her? One cannot answer. She went on, not looking at the Brigadier:
“This seems strange to you—will seem stranger when I tell you that I go to the East to marry another.... But Love and Marriage—are they not different things, Milord? Does not your experience teach you so?”
He was silent. Her voice sighed on:
“The gift I spoke of but now, is Love—perhaps you have guessed it? I tell you that a woman may yield to passion—may be much beloved, without ever having learned that!... It was revealed to me when I lay as one dead, and one whom I had despised and ill-used stood by what he and another believed to be a dead body. And in the face of scandal, dishonor—the mockery and contempt of the world!—he said—I shall never forget the tone in which he said it: ‘Because that other man has left you, I stay beside you here!’”
Cardillon said, possessed by a sudden, savage jealousy:
“Was that the man with the blue eyes?”