Though his white-limbed goddess fade ghostlike, the symbol is as valid as ever.

Did not her wan beauty smile youthful again in the eyes of these her latest worshippers?
And they went forth among the painted pillars, once more shunning each other's look.

It was some minutes before Cecily knew that her fingers still crushed the spray of maidenhair; then she touched it gently, and secreted it within her glove.

It must be dead when she reached home, but that mattered nothing; would it not remain the sign of something deathless?
She believed so.

In her vision the dead city had a new and wonderful life; it lay glorious in the light of heaven, its strait ways fit for the treading of divinities, its barren temples reconsecrate with song and sacrifice.