but with a cold awe in his heart as though he were about to question—Death.
They both retained their first positions, three feet apart, standing. The candle behind him on the table shed its flickering light across her altered features. Outside he heard the trees shaking and tossing in the gusts of rainy wind.
'Who are you then?' he asked hesitatingly, in a low tone.
There was no reply. But effort, showing that she heard and tried to answer, traced a little frown above the eyebrows; and the eyes looked puzzled for a moment.
'You mean,' he whispered, 'you cannot tell me?'
The head bowed slowly once by way of assent.
'You cannot find the word, the language?' he helped her. 'Is that it?' He still whispered, afraid of his own voice.
'Yes,' was the answer, spoken below the breath. Then instantly afterwards, straightening herself up with a vigorous movement that startled him horribly, she made a curious, rushing gesture of the whole body, spreading her arms out through the air about her. 'I am—like that!' the voice sprang out loud and clear.
She seemed by the gesture to gather space and the night into her wide embrace. She repeated it. The face smiled marvellously. Through this slim body, he realised, there rolled something ancient as the stars. It poured through space against him like a sea. It turned his little ideas of space all—otherwise.
'Tell me where you come from,' he asked quickly, eager yet dreading to hear.
'From everywhere,' came the answer like a wind.
He paused, breathless with astonishment. He felt
