“Yes.”
“Very well. My soul left my body asleep and I went out over the tops of the flowers—idly, without aim or intent—as the winds blow in summer.... It was in the Wood of the White Moth that I saw Sanang’s soul flash downward like a streak of fire and wrap my soul in flame!... And, in a flash, we were at the gates of hell before I could free myself from his embrace.... Then, by the Temple pool, among the oranges, I cried out asleep; and my terrified body sat up sobbing and trembling in Yulun’s arms. But the Slayer of Souls had slain mine in the Wood of the White Moth—slain it as he caught me in his flaming arms.... And now you know why such a woman as I dare not bend to kiss the dust from my dear Lord’s feet—Aie-a! Aie-a! I who have lost my girl’s soul to him who slew it in the Wood of the White Moth!”
She sat rocking in her chair in the red firelight, her hands framing her lovely face, her eyes staring straight ahead as though they saw opening before them through the sombre shadows of that room all the dread magic of the East where the dancing flame of Sanang’s blazing soul lighted their path to hell through the enchanted forest.
Recklow had grown pale, but his voice was steady.
“I see no reason,” he said, “why your husband should not love you.”
“I tell you my girl’s soul belonged to Sanang—was part of his, for an instant.”
“It is burned pure of dross.”
“It is burned.”
Recklow remained silent. Tressa lay deep in her armchair, twisting her white fingers.
“What makes him so late?” she said.... “I sent my soul out twice to look for him, and could not find him.”