“I don’t know that he put himself to any trouble. But he was so very fascinating that for once I forgot my own individuality in listening to his experience of life.” “He spoke of himself?” “Oh, yes, always. I never knew him refer much to any other—except his wife. He rarely mentioned the earth; he told me he did not find it interesting and rarely went there.” “He found it interesting enough to go there and stir up feud sufficient for centuries, and having done that, tired of the game and tired of the plaything, he retired to hell.” “Do you know him well?” “In the long ages back, before the earth was peopled, we were friends. Since then,” and Virginius smiled, “he has become my son-in-law.” “Yet now you are no longer friends.” “On all points but one we would be friendly. Our bone of contention is the earth and planets peopled like it.” “I did not know that his wife was one of your daughters.” “She is my eldest daughter—Purity—the loveliest flower that even heaven ever grew. The gentlest and most innocent child that ever gladdened parents’ heart.” He spoke of her with love and quiet pride, with no trace of the bitterness and sadness I had expected. I looked at him. “Could this capture not have been prevented? Was it not a very dangerous risk to let so young a creature out alone?” He shook his head. “Vestasian did not tell you all the story then? My daughter went by design and counsel of all in Heaven. She alone was free from anxiety or care, for she was innocent. But,” he continued, “I will tell you more of this another time. Let us walk out on the terrace and view the city.” The beauty of a perfect night had invested all things. Clustering roses with delicious scent twined in rich trailing loveliness round the marble balustrade; and where the steps wound down about a pillar, lilies sprang up from base to cornice, pure and beautiful and large. We came into the street. It was scarcely such a one as we know. From open windows floated the sound of music soft and far away. Fountains were still playing, and the water swayed slightly in the passing breeze. Here and there among the wild luxuriant flowers, where no weeds grew, a swift form was moving, surrounded by that faint, pure light that needs no sun to show the path they tread. Overhead, arches like faint rainbows, tingling with silvery light, spanned each street across the whole vast city. Virginius led me on through many streets till we came to a simple bridge that crossed the river. In the middle of the bridge we stood and looked both down and up the river. Its waters sparkled, and the cheerful ripple of the tiny waves, as they dashed against the pillars below, made such merry music that one almost thought to hear the fairy voices burst into some articulate song. There was no gurgle here, no deep, alluring blackness, no sad and heavy silence that drew the sad and heavy spirit down to its sadder depths.