and it came like healing to my spirit. Better that bond between us,
slight as most men might think it, than the dearest and closest with a
woman not Vanna. It was the first thrill of a new joy in my heart--the
first, I thank the Infinite, of many and steadily growing joys and hopes
that cannot be uttered here.

I bent to take the hand she stretched to me, but even as they touched,
I saw, passing behind the trees by the road, the young man I had seen
in the garden at Vernag--most beautiful, in the strange miter of his
jewelled diadem. His flute was at his lips and the music rang out sudden
and crystal clear as though a woodland god were passing to awaken all
the joys of the dawn.

The horses heard too. In an instant hers had swerved wildly, and she lay
on the ground at my feet. The music had ceased.

Days had gone before I could recall what had happened then. I lifted
her in my arms and carried her into the rest-house near at hand, and
the doctor came and looked grave, and a nurse was sent from the Mission
Hospital. No doubt all was done that was possible, but I knew from the
first what it meant and how it would be. She lay in a white stillness,
and the room was quiet as death. I remembered with unspeakable gratitude
later that the nurse had been merciful and had not sent me away.

So Vanna lay all day and through the night, and when the dawn came again
she stirred and motioned with her hand, although her eyes were closed.
I understood, and kneeling, I put my hand under her head, and rested it
against my shoulder. Her faint voice murmured at my ear.

"I dreamed--I was in the pine wood at Pahlgam and it was the Night of No
Moon, and I was afraid for it was dark, but suddenly all the trees were
covered with little lights like stars, and the greater light was beyond.
Nothing to be afraid of."

"Nothing, Beloved."

"And I looked beyond Peshawar, further than eyes could see, and in the
ruins of the monastery where we stood, you and I--I saw him, and he lay
with his head at the feet of the Blessed One. That is well, is it not?"

"Well, Beloved."

"And it is well I go? Is it not?"

"It is well."

A long silence. The first sun ray touched the floor. Again the whisper.

"Believe what I have told you. For we shall meet again." I repeated--

"We shall meet again."

In my arms she died.

Later, when all was over I asked myself if I believed this and answered
with full assurance--Yes.

If the story thus told sou