. . . It seemed to Skag as if he could not breathe.
"Breathe!" the mystic said, as he rose from the floor to stand on his own feet.
That instant an impact of force from him struck Skag like a blow; and the next moment his sense of strength had become like that of twenty men—it was hard to bear.
"Steady—slow!" It was a soft, but imperative order.
Gradually the warmth increased; not in degree, but in the rate of its flow. At last it was a surge, so intense that Skag could feel his own blood-pulse—a different kind of pulse.
The need of help was very great. There was a faintness—surely more terrible than any death!
"Fear not!" the mystic called tenderly. "The Supreme Power cares for her—more than you can!"
As he heard these words, a great tide rose up into Skag, penetrating his body and his mind and the uttermost deeps of his consciousness. A vast sweeping tide—it descended below all depths, it ascended above all heights, it compassed all reaches. It was ineffable love—transcendent. It was for her! But it was for him—too! Nay—it was for every living thing in this mortal condition and in all other conditions!
. . . Carlin turned her head a little, lifted one hand a little and sighed deeply. Then she moved till she lay easily on one side, just murmuring:
"I think I'll sleep."