“I have told you. It chanced just at that time we were flying over neutral ground. And she mistook me for a friend, having never known an enemy, and turned to give me the kiss of friendship. And I, being courteous though I reared myself, returned the kiss, but still retained my prisoner. However, I could not keep her prisoner long, for, truth to tell, she had imprisoned me. Accordingly, I brought her here, and when we came to the heavy gates she cried to go away, being only a child. But, loving me and trusting me, she came even to this great palace which I had built in lonely deity. Then there came messengers from heaven, demanding back this daughter, but I refused to give her up, till at last her father came and begged for her, saying she was but a child and only brought up for gentle usage. When she saw him she ran to him with the same outstretched arms which first had welcomed me, and said that this was heaven if only he would stay and bring the rest. He looked away and sighed, as well he might, for he knew well that no clinging bud, however fair and tender, could convert Hell and Heaven to friendship. But because he saw that we were truly joined he turned to leave us sadly, and went away. After that she fretted and grew so pure and fragile that I feared she would dissolve away, having no strength within herself. I had no power to strengthen her, because there as here they build up like with like. So the time passed on for many days. She grew ever tender and more tender, just like some fading wild blossom blown from the parent stem by March winds in sunny June. And then at last she lay like some weak child upon the bed which I had woven from snowy flakes of lilies for her. And as she lay panting in agony, which by its wrongful name mortals call Death, she took my hand and whispered she would be happy if she only left a child to take her place. I did not understand her, but she looked at me with such strange, wistful eyes that I, as best I could, settled my mind to fathom what she meant. Just then the bell had tolled for prayer within the prisons. She raised herself upon her elbow. “‘I want a child, a little child to hold within my arms,’ she cried, and never was child’s voice more plaintive or more sweet. And then she rose from off the bed, light as the beauty which enveloped her. “‘Take me to the grating,’ she entreated. ‘I would see them pray.’