Instantly Amyot strode away over the grass and disappeared. Fleta moved slowly away, thinking so deeply that she did not know any one was near her till a hand was put gently on her arm. She looked up, and saw before her the young king, Otto.
“Have you been ill,” he asked, looking closely into her face.
“No,” she answered. “I have only been living fast—a century of experience in a single night! Shall I talk to you about it, my friend?”
“I think not,” answered Otto, who now was walking quietly by her side. “I[“I] may not readily understand you. I am anxious above all to advance slowly and grasp each truth as it comes to me. I have been talking a long time to-day to Father Ivan; and I feel that I cannot yet understand the doctrines of the order except as interpreted through religion.”
“Through religion?” said Fleta. “But that is a mere externality.”
“True, and intellectually I see that. But I am not strong enough to stand without any external form to cling to. The precepts of religion, the duty of each towards humanity, the principle of sacrifice one for another, these things I can understand. Beyond that I cannot yet go. Are you disappointed with me?”
“No, indeed,” answered Fleta. “Why should I be.”
Otto gave a slight sigh as of relief. “I feared you might be,” he answered; “but I preferred to be honest. I am ready, Fleta, to be a member of the order, a devout member of the external Brotherhood. How far does that place me from you who claim a place among the wise ones of the inner Brotherhood.”
Fleta looked at him very seriously and gravely.
“I claim it,” she said; “but is it mine? Yet I will win it, Otto; even at the uttermost price, I will make it mine.”