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 upon the beautiful, and Art, and the great strides made in mechanism. I talked for hours, it seemed. I told her of my life, my great wealth and many, many disappointments, and had reached that point in my career when the vision of herself had appeared. She was intensely interested, leaning dangerously near, while the expression of her deep eyes made me reckless. Passion mastered. I caught her hand and pressed my lips upon palm and wrist, while in broken tones I told of my love.

"I worship you!" I murmured huskily. "I love, adore you!"

She gazed perplexed, yet a reflection of my passion shone in her glance; a reflection only, then she smiled, faintly amused.

"Love," she murmured. "What is love? A woman, a child, or a fancy? Once, centuries ago," she continued, "love ruled Centauri; now knowledge reigns supreme; the master of the universe."

"Without love life is imperfect," I hastened to assure her.

She looked puzzled, curious.

"I do not understand," she muttered. "All know of Love, but no one ever experienced it. Centuries ago this dead science had many students. You must visit the museum, Virgillius; it contains many rare works of art. There are three gigantic sculptured forms that absorb the attention. Two are particularly noticeable for crudeness, representing Art in the primitive beautiful. They were discovered in the caves of the Ocstas, and have been traced back 5,000 years. Each represents Love, one