"Soft, yet distant footsteps at last fell upon my eager ears, and she for whom I waited came stealthily along towards our trysting-place. We met as lovers of long standing, even though no single word of love had passed between us; the kiss I reverently pressed upon her white, upturned brow, was the first I had ever given her. But the language of love is universal--neither race nor dialect forms a barrier to the communication of its sweet secrets one to the other. "'Volinè, beloved,' I whispered, trembling with joy. 'You, for whom I have waited so long, have come to me at last!' "'Oh! man of Ramos, I am so happy to be with thee,' she answered, as I drew her gently within the shelter of the arbour, and sat down by her side. "'Nay, Volinè, will you not call me "Harry"? I ask it as a royal favour.' "'But "Harry" is not thy name. Still, to please thee, I will grant thy request. "Harry!"--"Harry!" is much prettier, too; I had not thought of that.' "'But I had, Volinè, and have been longing to hear my name fall from your sweet lips.' "'I fear, Harry, that I shall incur my father's anger in coming thus. I have dared his wrath, because I like thee and thy companions much, and because I would save thee and them from all harm. Now tell me all concerning thyself, for my soul is curious to know. Tell me, Harry, more of that mystic world from whence you came. Are the women of that world more fair, more beautiful than we? Doth no maid of Ramos hold thy heart in bondage? Hath not that power you tell me the sons and daughters of earth call Love, yet had no resting-place in thy soul?' And as she spoke these last words, Volinè laid her head upon my breast and gazed up into my face with her radiant love-lit eyes, as though she would read the innermost depths of my soul. "'Ah! Volinè, Volinè, of a truth I tell you no woman has yet moved my heart like you have done,' I answered, gazing down into her peerless face, my pulses thrilled by the magnetic touch of her soft white hand resting trustfully in my own, and by the vision of her marvellous beauty. Her breath intoxicated me with its warm, rich fragrance; her throbbing heart against my own filled my senses with the wild delirium of passionate ecstasy. "'Volinè,' I whispered--'Volinè, the maidens of that Earth Star yonder, glimmering serenely fair in the evening sky, are good and pure, and with no mean measure of beauty--even, Volinè, as you are good, and as you are pure; but such beauty as yours is unknown amongst them. Man only knows of beauty such as yours in the holy legends of his heaven; only the angels of his faith are decked in such graces as are yours; but in his mortal life he knows them not, save by imagination, and as they have been revealed to him. Such peerless, queenly beauty as yours, Volinè, no mortal man beheld before; such winning grace, such maidenly charm, are what we men of Earth would call immortal and divine!'