"I know not," he said simply. "But if the Body go back to the dust, and the life that is in him be blown out like a wavering flame; and if you who came from afar, again return afar; what, then, for me, who am neither an immortal spirit nor yet of this frail human clan?" "God has need of you." "When--where?" "How can I tell what I cannot even surmise?" "Tell me, tell me this: if I am so wedded to the Body that, if he perish, I perish also, what resurrection can there be for me?" "I do not know." "Is it a resurrection for the Body if, after weeks, or years, or scores of years, his decaying dust is absorbed into the earth, and passes in a chemic change into the living world?" "No: that is not a resurrection: that is a transmutation." "Yet that is all. There is nothing else possible. Dust unto dust. As with the Body, so with the mind, the spirit of life, that which I am, the Will. In the Grave there is no fretfulness any more: neither any sorrow, or joy, or any thought, or dream, or fear, or hope whatsoever. Hath not God Himself said it, through the mouth of His prophet?" "I do not understand," murmured the Soul, troubled. "Because the Grave is not your portion." "But I, too, must know Death!" "Yes, truly--a change what was it?--a change from a dream of Beauty, to Beauty!" "God knows I would that we could go together--you, and he yonder, and I; or, if that cannot be, he being wholly mortal, then at the least you and I." "But we cannot. At least, so it seems to us. But I--I too am alive, I too have dreams and visions, I too have joys and hopes, I too have despairs. And for me--_nothing_. I am, at the end, as a blown flame." "It may not be so. Something has whispered to me at times that you and I are to be made one." "Tell me: can the immortal wed the mortal?" "No." "Then how can we two wed, for I am mortal. My very life depends on the Body. A falling branch, a whelming wave, a sudden ill, and in a moment that which was is not. He, the Body, is suddenly become inert, motionless, cold, the perquisite of the Grave, the sport of the maggot and the worm: and I--I am a subsided wave, a vanished spiral of smoke, a little fugitive wind-eddy abruptly ended." "You know not what is the end any more than I do. In a moment we are translated." "Ah, is it so with you? O Soul, I thought that you had a profound surety!" "I know nothing: I believe." "Then it may be with you as with us?" "I know little: I believe."