The silence seemed absolute now; the whiteness absolute. He remembered that she had gone down into shadows. He bent his head toward her breast and looked down.
. . . Sense of time was gone—even the endlessness of it. Sense of whiteness was gone. His vision wakened, as he groped through deepening shadows, on and on—till they turned to utter blackness. In that utter blackness appeared a thread of pure blue; he traced it back up till it entered Carlin's body. There, it was not blue any more, but a faint glow of high white light centred in her breast and shed—like moonlight—through all her person.
The heart of his heart called to her. . . . There was no answer.
. . . He became aware that a tall slender man stood at his side; but it did not disturb him. The man wore long straight robes of camel's hair. The sense of him was strength. At last he spoke:
"Son, why do you call to her? She cannot come back—of herself. You cannot fetch her back."
"Why?" breathed Skag. "I ought to be able to."
"No," the man said kindly, "you are not able to—I am not able to—no created being is able to."
The man emphasised the word created.
"What can?" Skag asked.
"First you must learn not to depend on yourself; then you must know something of the law."