She hurried away, and I sighed with relief, but chuckled gleefully as I thought of the chagrin of old Benlial. He and Centauri had left the hall hours ago, presumably to discuss affairs of state. I joined the group surrounding the fair Priestess of the Sun and edged my way to her side. The guests were departing reluctantly. I thought they would never go, but at last Alpha and I remained alone in the great, brilliantly lit rooms. “Good-night, Virgillius,” she murmured, as I raised her hand to my lips. “Come on the morrow as early as you wish, I will tell you of my plans.” She tried to free her hand, then smiled softly. The tender light in her eyes emboldened me. I drew her to me and flung my arms around her. “You who love so deeply and truly,” I whispered; “why, ah, Alpha, are you so cruel to me?” “Oh, you do not understand love at all!” she interrupted, quickly passing from my embrace. “You did not willingly love, you were forced into it—and you love a woman. With you, Love is passion, desire, recreation; you will outlive it and love as deeply again. In your mind is ample space for other thoughts. You are not my affinity. It was not destined we should mate. I adore till death and for the sake of adoring, it is absolute. I love a god, perfect mentally, physically. Should the substance lack either perfection, it is fate, and I’ll be true to the shadow. Ah, Virgillius, I am not ungrateful. I do not forget it is to you I owe this wondrous new existence, and—well—it is late; I will see you in the morning.” All women have ideals, those lacking this sweet sentiment are not worth winning. Alpha, the beauteous, was only a woman after all, passionately enamoured with an ideal she would never meet. An ideal—fiddlesticks! I inspired this passion for a shadow. Alpha Centauri is mine. I created her. CHAPTER XVII.