Faveon--My dear Dano, I shall not attempt to account for your singular dream further than that I presume that your waking thoughts and imaginings were so impressed upon your mind that during sleep they assumed familiar shapes, one of which appeared to utter unheard of mysteries. I pray you, put away further indulgence in such misleading fancies which may harmfully excite your too emotional nature. Through our Holy Writings we are taught, and all experience confirms the fact, that only Andûman[a:]'s Messengers dwell above yonder fleecy, floating clouds, which, like a mistlike veil hide the glory of their shining faces, which, as we know, sometimes irradiates the sky reminding Ento's children that their sleepless eyes ever observe our good or evil deeds. Always has it been and always must it be that when the breath of life ceases the dead go into perpetual silence. Ah me, scarcely do we learn to live, to love, to enjoy, ere death tears us from the embraces of our loved ones, and naught is left us save a handful of ashes to be cherished, to be ceaselessly wept over. Dano--Think me not impious that I question _why_ Andûman[a:] has so decreed that a life full of good deeds, of noble aims and achievements, shall end as ends the life of the animal; shall suddenly, in the full tide of a glorious career, cease to live and be no more. That we now exist, and are conscious of the fact, is to my mind, as great a marvel as that, in some unimagined state, we may continue a conscious existence. Aye, a conscious existence in which to unfold our highest abilities. You are aware, Favēon, that I am betrothed to Vallo[a:], daughter and only child of our supreme ruler, Omanos Fûnh[a:], whose wife, Sēlon[a:], died in giving birth to their only child. Emerging into womanhood, Vallo[a:] displays such beauty of character, such elegance of manner, such loveliness of face and form, such intelligence and vivacity, that she enthralls me beyond expression, and I love her with adoring tenderness. When I think of the possibility of death approaching this charming, this adorable woman, stilling the breath of her life, closing her luminous eyes and ending the music of her gentle speech, I am filled with unutterable anguish. Oh, Favēon, if I sin, may Andûman[a:] forgive, but to me it seems cruel that he permits the dread Messenger Phra to take our all without making us, his children, some recompense for the agony of bereavement, for the sorrowful certainty, that we, and our dear dead shall meet no more.