And he suddenly was conscious of something which his whole life had
missed--for he knew he did not know what real love meant, not even that
which his mother might have given him, if she had lived.
He did not speak for a moment; he gazed into Halcyone's face. It seemed
as if a curtain had lifted for one instant and given him a momentary
glimpse into some heaven, and then dropped again, leaving a haunting
memory of sweetness, the more beautiful because indistinct.
"Love--" he said, still dreamily. "Surely there is yet another and a
deeper kind of love."
Halcyone raised her head, while a strange look grew in her wide eyes,
almost of fear. It was as though he had put into words some unspoken,
unadmitted thought.
"Yes," she said very softly, "I feel there is--but that is not all
peace; that must be gloriously terrible, because it would mean life."
He looked at her fully now; there was not an atom of coquetry or
challenge; her face was pale and exquisite in its simple intentness. He
turned to the goddess again, and almost chaunted:
"Oh! Aphrodite of the divine lips and soulful eyes, what mystery do you
hold for us mortals? What do you promise us? What do you make us pay? Is
the good worth the anguish? Is the fulfillment a cup worth
draining--without counting the cost?"
"What does she answer you?" whispered Halcyone.
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