ote gaze came back to fix itself on Palla.

"But, somehow, I think that Vanya would grieve.... And he has grieved
enough. Do you think so, Palla?"

"Yes."

Ilse said thoughtfully: "There is always enough death on earth. And to
live honestly, and love undauntedly, and serve humanity with a clean
heart is the most certain way to help the slaying of that thing which
murdered Vanya."

Palla gazed at Marya, profoundly preoccupied by the astounding
revelation that she had been Vanya's legal wife; and in her brown eyes
the stunned wonder of it still remained, nor could she seem to think
of anything except of that amazing fact.

When they stood up to take leave of Marya, the rosebud dropped from
Palla's lap, and Marya picked it up and offered it again.

"It should open," she said, her strange smile glimmering. "Cold water
and a little salt, my Palla--that is all rosebuds need--that is all we
women need--a little water to cool and freshen us; a little salt for
all the doubtful worldly knowledge we imbibe."

She took Palla's hands and bent her lips to them, then lifted her
tawny head:

"What do words matter? _Slava, slava_, under the moon! Words are
but symbols of needs--your need and Ilse's and mine--and Jack's
and Vanya's--and the master-word differs as differ our several
needs. And if I say Christ and Buddha and I are one, let me so
believe, if that be my need. Or if, from some high minarette, I
lift my voice proclaiming the unity of God!--or if I confess the
Trinity!--or if, for me, the god-fire smoulders only within my own
accepted soul--what does it matter? Slava, slava--the word and the
need spell Love--whatever the deed, Palla--my Palla!--whatever the
deed, and despite it."

* * * * *

As they came, together, to Palla's house and entered the empty
drawing-room, Ilse said:

"In mysticism there seems to be no reasoning--nothing definite save
only an occult and overwhelming restlessness.... Marya may take the
veil ... or nurse lepers ... or she may become a famous courtesan....
I do not mean it cruelly. But, in the mystic, the spiritual, the
intellectual and the physical seem to be interchangeable, and become
gradually indistinguishable."

"That is a frightful analysis," murmured Palla. A little shiver passed
over her and she laid the rosebud against her lips.

Ilse said: "Marya is right: love is the world's overwhelming need. The
way to love is to serve; and if we