And from somewhere far away in the recesses of that great cave came the answering strophe. “O Love sublime And undismayed, No touch of Time Upon thee laid. Take that is thine; Ended the quest! I seek _my_ shrine Upon _thy_ breast.” Then I laid down the harp. At last a voice, the voice of Heliodore speaking whence I knew not, asked, “Do the dead sing, or is it a living man? And if so, how is that man named?” “A living man,” I replied, “and he is named Olaf, son of Thorvald, or otherwise Michael. That name was given him in the cathedral at Byzantium, where first his eyes fell on a certain Heliodore, daughter of Magas the Egyptian, whom now he seeks.” I heard the sound of footsteps creeping towards me and Heliodore’s voice say, “Let me see your face, you who name yourself Olaf, for know that in these haunted tombs ghosts and visions and mocking voices play strange tricks. Why do you hide your face, you who call yourself Olaf?” “Because the eyes are gone from it, Heliodore. Irene robbed it of the eyes from jealousy of you, swearing that never more should they behold your beauty. Perchance you would not wish to come too near to an eyeless man wrapped in a beggar’s robe.” She looked--I felt her look. She sobbed--I heard her sob, and then her arms were about me and her lips were pressed upon my own. So at length came joy such as I cannot tell; the joy of lost love found again. A while went by, how long I know not, and at last I said, “Where is Martina? It is time we left this place.” “Martina!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean Irene’s lady, and is she here? If so, how comes she to be travelling with you, Olaf?” “As the best friend man ever had, Heliodore; as one who clung to him in his ruin and saved him from a cruel death; as one who has risked her life to help him in his desperate search, and without whom that search had failed.” “Then may God reward her, Olaf, for I did not know there were such women in the world. Lady Martina! Where are you, lady Martina?” Thrice she cried the words, and at the third time an answer came from the shadows at a distance. “I am here,” said Martina’s voice with a little yawn. “I was weary and have slept while you two greeted each other. Well met at last, lady Heliodore. See, I have brought you back your Olaf, blind it is true, but otherwise lacking nothing of health and strength and station.” Then Heliodore ran to her and kissed first her hand and next her lips. In after days she told me that for those of one who had been sleeping the eyes of Martina seemed to be strangely wet and red. But if this were so her voice trembled not at all.