Now at last I was accepted almost as a native of Sobul. My marriage to a daughter of the tribe apparently made the people think of me as an Ibandru by adoption; yes, even though in some ways I was still a stranger, and though the people still were silent when I questioned them as to their autumnal flight. If any of them recalled Hamul-Kammesh's original prophecy, and in particular the omen of the fireball, they were careful to keep their recollections quiet; and even if they had their fears, they cherished no personal resentment--for was it not Yulada herself who had showed me the way to Sobul? Was it not by her will that I was remaining? Certainly, it seemed to suit the pleasure of Yulada that I should linger here indefinitely. The way to the outer world was still unknown; no visitors came to Sobul, and in my wanderings among the mountains I had discovered no sign of human life and no road that gave promise of leading toward civilization. Not that I would have left if I could; to go away without Yasma would have been unthinkable; and to go with her would have been as difficult as it was dangerous. Yet I kept wondering if I was to spend my remaining days in this primitive valley; and I had more than an occasional day-dream of finding some previously unobserved mountain pass and making my way with Yasma toward some civilized settlement. But as yet, in the happiness of my young wedded life, such thoughts troubled me very little. No one in my country was half so dear to me as Yasma; and all the friends I had left, the habits I had abandoned and the work I had lost could not weigh in the scales against her. And so for a while I merely toyed with the thought of escape; and even had it seemed possible to extricate myself from the wilderness of Sobul, I should scarcely have stirred to make the attempt. Months passed, and all remained as it had been; the hot days came, and the woods were densely green again with the summer foliage; the fruit of the orchards swelled and ripened, the plum was dyed a rich purple, and the face of the peach was delicately pink. But Yasma and I, in our enchanted retreat, scarcely noted the passing of the weeks, scarcely were aware that we were drifting on a slow tide toward the end of bliss. At times, indeed, some prematurely yellowing leaf or some field newly prepared for the harvest, would bring an uncomfortable premonition of autumn; at times the sight of Yulada perched inscrutably upon the peak would awaken unpleasant reminders of the past winter and still more unpleasant reminders of the winter to come. But mostly I managed to thrust such thoughts from me, to live in the enjoyment of the present moment, and to feel that the present moment was to endure. I was only deceiving myself with phantoms!--alas, I did not succeed in deceiving myself completely!--and now and then, when the veil was momentarily lifted, I was aware that a shadow still brooded above me, that for the