She gently released herself, gazing at me with unresponsive, wonder-wide eyes. “Is this love?” she asked, “and are you happy?” “To love you is ecstasy!” I replied. “To possess you—heaven!” “You are profane,” she murmured reprovingly. “Woman is mortal. It is sacrilegious comparing her with paradise.” Powers above! my passion suddenly evaporated; but though she chilled me it was still rapture to be near her. “I am trying to teach you the lesson of love, sweet Alpha,” I whispered; “you must learn, you promised.” “You wish to marry me?” she asked. I raised her hand to my lips and gazed ardently into her deep eyes (same here as on our side). She moved from me and haughtily inquired if love in my country was not equivalent to marriage. Rebuked, I humbly answered: “Not always; we marry frequently and for many reasons, least of all for love.” “We marry for companionship, respect,” she icily informed me. “Intellect mates with intellect; mental, physical equality, produces the ideal.” “You have betrayed the Centaurians,” I cried triumphantly. “Love is not vetoed, but so sifted and refined it bears little resemblance to the divine flame, yet the tender passion is not quenched, but the Centaurians unabashed proclaim Love, a dead evil, and boldly title their droll creation ... Compatibility. Oh, Centauri! Centauri!” “You dare ridicule!” she cried angrily. “No, no, my lady!” I hastened to reply. (Good heavens!) “I am giving you the first lesson in the most wonderful of all sciences. Love is a powerful, mysterious, inexplicable ideality—a thrilling experience, and before I leave your world you will have mastered and indulged in all the delights and miseries of this mystic art; and deep in your heart you will bless me for imparting this ecstatic knowledge; and though existence may end in sweet despair (it always does), you have lived and realized. One genuine thrill of this divine folly is worth a life of empty fame with the monstrous finale of decayed immortality. Superb Alpha, your destiny is writ in your glorious beauty and marvelous power to charm.” Her eyes flamed at my words, and for the first time I pondered over the wisdom of my intentions. But desire was turbulent; mad, infatuated, I lost control over conscience, reason—passion has no regrets—I would possess. I talked with her for hours and told over again of my country and religion, and related completely the life of Christ. She was impressed, awed, and deeply reverenced the divine spirit that embodied the Saviour. “He was a martyr,” she cried with uplifted, worshipping eyes. “His actions, teachings, were divine inspiration; but—He lived His life too early, and Himself ordained it should be shortened.”