yo. Oddly enough, however, he commanded
Yva to bring down the spaniel, Tommy, to be with him from time to time.
When I asked her why, she said it was because he was lonely and
desired the dog's companionship. It seemed to us very strange that this
super-man, who had the wisdom of ten Solomons gathered in one within his
breast, should yet desire the company of a little dog. What then was the
worth of learning and long life, or, indeed, of anything? Well, Solomon
himself asked the question ages since, and could give no answer save
that all is vanity.

I noted about this time that Yva began to grow very sad and troubled;
indeed, looking at her suddenly on two or three occasions, I saw that
her beautiful eyes were aswim with tears. Also, I noted that always as
she grew sadder she became, in a sense, more human. In the beginning she
was, as it were, far away. One could never forget that she was the
child of some alien race whose eyes had looked upon the world when, by
comparison, humanity was young; at times, indeed, she might have been
the denizen of another planet, strayed to earth. Although she never
flaunted it, one felt that her simplest word hid secret wisdom; that
to her books were open in which we could not read. Moreover, as I have
said, occasionally power flamed out of her, power that was beyond our
ken and understanding.

Yet with all this there was nothing elfish about her, nothing
uncanny. She was always kind, and, as we could feel, innately good and
gentle-hearted, just a woman made half-divine by gifts and experience
that others lack. She did not even make use of her wondrous beauty to
madden men, as she might well have done had she been so minded. It is
true that both Bastin and Bickley fell in love with her, but that was
only because all with whom she had to do must love her, and then, when
she told them that it might not be, it was in such a fashion that no
soreness was left behind. They went on loving her, that was all, but as
men love their sisters or their daughters; as we conceive that they may
love in that land where there is no marrying or giving in marriage.

But now, in her sadness, she drew ever nearer to us, and especially to
myself, more in tune with our age and thought. In truth, save for her
royal and glittering loveliness in which there was some quality which
proclaimed her of another blood, and for that reserve of hidden power
which at times would look out of her eyes or break through her w