"Oh, my beloved," she cried, while her little fists, fiercely clenched, were waved tragically in air, "you should never have married me! Never, never! It wasn't fair to you! It wasn't right! Oh, why did you make me marry you? For now see what you have done! You have locked yourself up in Sobul, and can't go back to your own land, no, you can't--never again--not unless--unless without me!" The last words were uttered with a drooping of the head and a gesture of utmost renunciation. "You know I would never go back without you, Yasma," I assured her. "But you can never go with me! I must remain in Sobul--I must! I've told you so before, and I cannot--cannot be anything but what I am!" "No one would ask you to be anything but what you are. But think, Yasma, might it not really be wiser to go away? Remember how long we have been parted even in Sobul. And would it not be better, better for both of us, if we could leave this land and be together always?" "We could not be together always!" she denied, with finality. "And it would not be better, not better for me! I must be in Sobul each year when the birds fly south! Or I too might go the way of the birds, and never be able to fly back!" It was an instant before I had grasped the significance of her words. "But you cannot mean that, Yasma!" I protested, with a return of my old, half-buried forebodings. "No, no, you cannot--" "I do mean it!"--In her tones there was an unfathomable sadness, and the humility of one who bows to inexorable forces.--"I do mean it! I know that it is so! Oh, if you love me, if you care to have me with you, do not speak of this again! Do not ask me to go away from Sobul, and never, never return!" As she uttered these words, her eyes held such pleading, such piteous pleading and sorrow and regret, that I could only take her into my arms, and promise never to distress her so again. Yet even as I felt her arms about me and her convulsive form huddled against my breast, I could not help reflecting how strange was the prison that circumstance and my own will had built about me; and my glimpse of the doorway out had only made me realize how unyielding were the bolts and bars. CHAPTER XXII _THE TURNING POINT APPROACHES_ When the days were shortening once more toward fall and the forest leaves were showing their first tinges of yellow, I knew that I was approaching an all-important turning point. Already I had passed two autumns and two winters in Sobul, two autumns of mystery and two winters of solitude; and it seemed certain that the third year would bring some far-reaching change. I tried to tell myself that the change would be beneficent, that the enigma of Sobul would be penetrated, and that henceforth there would be no separation between Yasma and myself; but even though I doubted my own hopes and feared some undiscovered menace, I remained firm in my determination that Yasma should not leave me this year.