"'Volinè, he is a coward and a liar. He alone is in the wrong, and thrust himself upon me as I came hither. He insulted you, and I struck him to the ground in my passion; but I am sorry now, for I have offended you. But pardon and forgive me, dear one, and let nothing come to mar our happiness. I will see the King anon, and tell him the simple truth. Come! kiss me, and make me happy again.'
"'Thou dost not deserve it, Harry; but there--' and as she kissed me she continued, 'And now heed my wishes better in future, or my forgiveness will be more slowly given, I promise thee.'
"And so this little cloud above our happiness drifted away, and we enjoyed all the sweets of each other's company to the full. I was determined now, to-night, to ask Volinè to be my wife. In spite of our differences of race, and inequality of rank and station, I resolved to tell her of my passion, and to hear my fate.
"'Volinè,' I whispered, as I drew her gently and yet closer to me--'Volinè, do you not know that I love you more passionately than ever mortal man has loved before? Do you not know that you have brought brightness into my life, and have taken that place in my heart which only one woman can ever fill?'
"'Always, darling; always--until the race of my life is run, and all power of loving is stayed by the hand of death. Here, in this arbour, I swear it. By my home world yonder, and all that I hold dear thereon--see you, glimmering as a star above the tree-crests in the southern sky--I pledge to love and to worship you, Volinè, so long as I have life to love, and breath to speak it. Volinè, you are all in all to me; my first love and my last. Without you, life is but another name for pain; with you, bright and radiant joy for ever. I am yours, and you are mine. Volinè, be my wife. Crown my happiness to-night by saying "Yes."'
"'Stay, Harry; thy last words have brought a strange and unknown pain to my heart, and revealed the misery that is now before me whichever way I answer thee. Harry, the sweets of wifehood with thee are a joy which I may never hope to reach. There is one barrier that must ever stand between us, which maketh impossible a union between a son of thy world and a daughter of mine. It hath been so ordained, and therefore we cannot alter it to meet our will. This barrier of which I speak is the span of life. Here, as thou knowest there are old men amongst us who have seen five hundred summers whiten into winter. Four hundred years are the men of Gathma's usual span, even as thou hast told me but seventy are the limit of the men of Earth and thine. I am but five and twenty summers--comparatively in childhood, yet--and for fifty summers more I shall enjoy the sweets of youth. Thou art in the middle of thy tiny course, and in a few more years will reach the close of thy allotted span. Think then of my time of endless widowhood, sadly mourning for thee; yearning for the love I tasted, only to lose. Were I to wife with thee, my short happiness would ever be clouded by its early end! It must not, cannot be!'