nd for
love; thou wilt not long survive. Methinks our spirits have already been
one. If I fall, thou wilt not remain long away. Death will hasten our
union.'

Then, taking her head between his hands, he kissed her, and kissed the
silver shrine, and moved out into the gloom.

* * * * *

The night passed, the day came forth in rosy splendour, such a day as is
only experienced in the beautiful Ionian land.

The air was balmy and perfume laden, the winds scarcely stirred the
trembling leaves, the birds sang with joyous notes--all Nature smiled.

Chios passed through the myrtle garden to his studio, but the brush was
powerless in his hand. Last night's adventure was uppermost in his
thoughts, as well it might be. It was in his sober moments when judgment
reigned, and love lay calmly on his soul, that he became fully aware of
what he had done. He leant against a pillar, and reflected upon his
position. He had entered into the fight, he had broken the ranks. He was
a mariner who must weather the gale on the deck of his craft. There was
no escape for him, neither did he desire one.

He, like a master mind, surveyed his position. He had pledged his love
to one who could never return it on earth. He would walk alone until his
release. Joy in anticipation of their reunion was sufficient for him.
True, he felt there was a great disparity in their relative
positions--she a mighty priestess, he a sceptic of her faith. But what
of that? He believed in Saronia, and she believed in him. Let the faiths
go to the winds! If he found not a new god that he might worship--well,
then he would make Saronia the goddess of his soul, and worship her with
a love that would raise the jealousy of the gods. But if he found the
great Spirit who demanded his love and service, then such should have
his supreme adoration. But no god or goddess spoke to him. Therefore he
knew no being superior to Saronia. She was his life; fearful as she was
in her mighty incantations, he feared her not. Her mysteries he heeded
not, the magic of her being satisfied his craving for union with that
which completed the circle of his existence. He had found it in this
lovely girl, and he measured this subtle, endless affinity against that
which the world calls love, where men take wives for a fragment of time
and think not, care not, whether that love continues in the great
hereafter, and content themselves with the thought that they may be