"I cannot. It is not in me. You heard me tell Mavis Clare as much. I have it in my power to make other people fall in love, somewhat after the dexterous fashion practised by match-making mothers,--but for myself, love on this planet is too low a thing--too brief in duration. Last night, in a dream,--I have strange dreams at times,--I saw one whom possibly I could love,--but she was a Spirit, with eyes more lustrous than the morning, and a form as transparent as flame;--she could sing sweetly, and I watched her soaring upward, and listened to her song. It was a wild song, and to many mortal ears meaningless,--it was something like this ..." and his rich baritone pealed lusciously forth in melodious tune-- Into the Light, Into the heart of the fire! To the innermost core of the deathless flame I ascend,--I aspire! Under me rolls the whirling Earth With the noise of a myriad wheels that run Ever round and about the sun,-- Over me circles the splendid heaven Strewn with the stars of morn and even, And I a queen Of the air serene, Float with my flag-like wings unfurled, Alone--alone--'twixt God and the world! Here he broke off with a laugh. "She was a strange Spirit,"--he said--"because she could see nothing but herself ''twixt God and the world.' She was evidently quite unaware of the numerous existing barriers put up by mankind between themselves and their Maker. I wonder what unenlightened sphere she came from!" I looked at him in mingled wonder and impatience. "You talk wildly,"--I said--"And you sing wildly. Of things that mean nothing, and _are_ nothing." He smiled, lifting his eyes to the moon, now shining her fullest and brightest. "True!" he replied--"Things which have meaning and are valuable, have all to do with money or appetite, Geoffrey! There is no wider outlook evidently! But we were speaking of love, and I hold that love should be eternal as hate. Here you have the substance of my religious creed if I have any,--that there are two spiritual forces ruling the universe--love and hate,--and that their incessant quarrel creates the general confusion of life. Both contend one against the other,--and only at Judgment-Day will it be proved which is the strongest. I am on the side of Hate myself,--for at present Hate has scored all the victories worth winning, while Love has been so often martyred that there is only the poor ghost of it left on earth." At that moment my wife's figure appeared at the drawing-room window, and Lucio threw away his half-smoked cigar. "Your guardian-angel beckons!" he said, looking at me an odd expression of something like pity mingled with disdain,--"Let us go in." XXX