"None whatever," answered Heliobas decisively. "His life on earth is assured for many years yet,--inasmuch as his penance is not finished, his recompense not won. Thus far my knowledge of his fate is certain." "Then you will bring him back to-day?" pursued Hilarion. "Bring him back? I? I cannot!" said Heliobas, with a touch of sad humility in his tone. "And for this very reason I feared to send him hence,--and would not have done so,--not without preparation at any rate,--could I have had my way. His departure was more strange than any I have ever known--moreover, it was his own doing, not mine. I had positively refused to exert my influence upon him, because I felt he was not in my sphere, and that therefore neither I nor any of those higher intelligences with which I am in communication could control or guide his wanderings. He, however, was as positively determined that I SHOULD exert it--and to this end he suddenly concentrated all the pent up fire of his nature in one rapid effort of Will, and advanced upon me.... I warned him, but in vain! quick as lightning flash meets lightning flash, the two invisible Immortal Forces within us sprang into instant opposition,--with this difference, that while he was ignorant and unconscious of HIS power, I was cognizant and fully conscious of MINE. Mine was focused, as it were, upon him,--his was untrained and scattered,--the result was that mine won the victory: yet understand me well, Hilarion,--if I could have held myself in, I would have done so. It was he,--he who DREW my force out of me as one would draw a sword out of its scabbard--the sword may be ever so stiffly fixed in its sheath, but the strong hand will wrench it forth somehow, and use it for battle when needed." "Then," said Hilarion wonderingly, "you admit this man possesses a power greater than your own?" "Aye, if he knew it!" returned Heliobas, quietly. "But he does not know. Only an angel could teach him--and in angels he does not believe." "He may believe now.... !" "He may. He will--he must, ... if he has gone where I would have him go." "A poet, is he not!" queried Hilarion softly, bending down to look more attentively at the beautiful Antinous-like face colorless and cold as sculptured alabaster.