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 and of the future; fateful, seeing in a single flash all the manifold mischance of sad humanity.

Chun marked the change with wonder but without surprise; for to him this was no woman, though the touch of her fingers was soft and warm upon his flesh. Through the glamour of her loveliness and the air of mystery that, like a vapour, seemed to cast a veil around her, she shone forth for him an Incarnation of some Deva who, in this supreme moment of his emotional experience, had stepped down from her heaven to hallow his baptism. So deep-seated in the soul of him was this conviction that, forgetful of the pride and triumph of his own godhead, he sank at her feet in the shadows, prostrating himself, murmuring in the ancient tongue broken words of praise, of supplication, of gratitude.

Thus, from the first moment of their meeting, Chun knelt to her, his divinity—was on his knees before her in worship of her beauty, of her mystery, of the compelling magic that was hers. There were times through which he was yet to live, when he was to rise up to leave her, curbing his wrath lest he should lay violent hands upon her, and drag her in the dust into which she had stamped him. But ever the real Chun, as now in the beginning, was on his knees at her feet in an eternal agony of adoration.

A musical ripple of laughter sounded above him in the darkness; and squatting on the flags, Chun raised his head and looked at her. She