mit it altogether, and now to-night he knew that his fate had found
him. They would say that, after the common fashion of men, he had been
conquered by a lovely face and form and a brave deed of devotion. But it
was not so. Something beyond the flesh and its works and attributes drew
him towards this woman, something that he could neither understand nor
define (unless, indeed, the vision of Issachar defined it), but of which
he had been conscious since first he set eyes upon her face. It was
possible, it was even probable, that before another hour had gone by she
would have passed beyond his reach, into the deeps of death, whither for
a while he could not follow her. Yet he knew that the knowledge that she
never could be his would not affect the love of her which burnt in him,
for his desire towards her was not altogether a desire of the earth.

Aziel bent down over the swooning girl, looking into her pale face,
till her lips almost touched his own, and his breath beating on her brow
seemed to give her life again. Now she stirred, and now she opened her
eyes and gazed back at him a while, deeply and with meaning, even as he
gazed at her.

He spoke no word, for his lips seemed to be smitten with silence, but
his heart said, "I love you, I love you," and her heart heard it, for
she whispered back:--

"Bethink you who and what I am."

"It matters not, for we are one," he replied.

"Bethink you," she said again, "that soon I may be dead and lost to
you."

"It cannot be, for we are one," he replied. "One we have been, one
we are to-day, and one we shall be through all the length of life and
death."

"Prince," she said again, "once more and for the last time I say:
Bethink you well, for it comes upon me that your words are true, and
that if I take that which to-night you offer, it will be for ever and
for aye."

"For ever and aye, let it be," Aziel said, leaning towards her.

"For ever and for aye, let it be," she repeated, holding up her lips to
his.

And thus in the silent moonlit garden they plighted their strange troth.

*****

"Lady," said a voice in their ears, the voice of Metem, "I pray you let
me dress your hand, for there is no time to lose."

Aziel looked up to see the Phoenician bending over them with a sardonic
smile, and behind him the tall form of Issachar, who stood regarding
them, his arms folded on his breast.

"Holy Issachar," went on Metem with malice, "be pleased to hold this
lady's han