(The man at the feet of the Dweller in the Heights moved. Some dim word shaped upon his locked lips. She listened in a divine calm. It seemed that the very Gods drew nearer. Again the man essayed speech, the body dead, life only in the words that none could hear. The voice went on.) But the Princess flying wearily because of the sore wound in her heart, came at last to the City under the Sunset, where the Lord of Death rules in the House of Quiet, and was there received with royal honours for in that land are no disguises. And she knelt before the Secret One and in a voice broken with agony entreated him to heal her. And with veiled and pitying eyes he looked upon her, for many and grievous as are the wounds he has healed this was more grievous still. And he said; “Princess, I cannot, But this I can do--I can give a new heart in a new birth--happy and careless as the heart of a child. Take this escape from the anguish you endure and be at peace.” But the Princess, white with pain, asked only; “In this new heart and birth, is there room for the King?” And the Lord of Peace replied; “None. He too will be forgotten.” Then she rose to her feet. “I will endure and when he comes I will serve him once more. If he will he shall heal me, and if not I will endure for ever.” And He who is veiled replied; “In this sacred City no pain may disturb the air, therefore you must wait outside in the chill and the dark. Think better, Princess! Also, he must pass through many rebirths, because he beheld the face of Beauty unveiled and knew her not. And when he comes he will be weary and weak as a new-born child, and no more a great King.” And the Princess smiled; “Then he will need me the more,” she said; “I will wait and kiss the feet of my King.” “And the Lord of Death was silent. So she went outside into the darkness of the spaces, and the souls free passed her like homing doves, and she sat with her hands clasped over the sore wound in her heart, watching the earthward way. And the Princess is keeping still the day of her long patience.” The voice ceased. And there was a great silence, and the listening faces drew nearer. Then the Dweller in the Heights spoke in a voice soft as the falling of snow in the quiet of frost and moon. I could have wept myself blind with joy to hear that music. More I dare not say. “He is in the Lower State of Perception. He sorrows for his loss. Let him have one instant’s light that still he may hope.” She bowed above the man, gazing upon him as a mother might upon her sleeping child. The dead eyelids stirred, lifted, a faint gleam showed beneath them, an unspeakable weariness. I thought they would fall unsatisfied. Suddenly he saw What looked upon him, and a terror of joy no tongue can tell flashed over the dark mirror of his face. He stretched a faint hand to touch her feet, a sobbing sigh died upon his lips, and once more the swooning sleep took him. He lay as a dead man before the Assembly.