Suddenly he became aware of Letitia. She uttered but one word: “Why?” It seemed to him, while he slept, if indeed he slept, that he should have chosen Letitia, who lived but for her dreams, her yearnings and imaginings, and who had been sacrificed with her dreams to the vulgar world of reality. It seemed to him as though Letitia, pointing to Eva, were saying: “What do you seek of her? She knows nothing of you, but weaves at the web of her own life. She is ambitious, and can give you no help in your suffering; and it is only to forget and deaden the pain of your soul that you are wasting yourself upon her.” Christian was astonished to find Letitia so wise. He was almost inclined to smile at her wisdom. But he knew now clearly that he was suffering. It was a suffering of an unfathomable nature, which grew from hour to hour and from day to day, like the spreading of a gangrened wound. His head rested on the shoulder of his beloved; her little breasts rose from the violet shadows and had trembling contours. He felt her beauty with every nerve, and her strangeness and exquisite lightness. He felt that he loved her with all his thoughts and with every fibre of his flesh, and that, despite it all, he could find no help in her. And again a voice cried: “Arise, Christian, arise!” But he could not arise. For he loved this woman, and feared life without her. The dawn was breaking when Eva turned her face to him again: “Where are you?” she asked. “What are you gazing at?” He answered: “I am with you.” “To the last stirrings of your thought?” “I don’t know. Who knows the last recesses of his mind?” “I want you wholly. With every breath. And something of you escapes.” “And you,” Christian asked evasively, “are you utterly with me?” She answered passionately, and with an imperious smile, as she drew closer to him: “You are more mine than I am yours.” “Why?” “Does it frighten you? Are you miserly in your love? Yes, you are more mine. I have broken the spell that held you and melted your soul of stone.” “Melted my soul...?” Christian asked in amazement. “I have, my darling. Don’t you know that I’m a sorceress? I have power over the fish in the sea, the horse on the sod, the vulture in the air, and the invisible deities that are spoken of in the books of the Persians. I can make of you what I would, and you must yield.” “That is true,” Christian admitted. “But your soul does not look at me,” Eva cried, and flung her arms about him, “it is an alien soul, dark, hostile, unknown.” “Perhaps you’re misusing the power you have over me, and my soul resists.” “It is to obey--that is all.” “Perhaps it is not wholly sure of you.” “I can give your soul only the assurance of the hour that is.” “What are you planning?” “Don’t ask me! Hold me fast with your thoughts. Don’t let me go for a moment, or we are lost to each other. Cling to me with all your might.”