I hurried through the hall and up the staircase quickly, and should have gone straight into Zara's boudoir had I not heard a sound of voices which caused me to stop precipitately outside the door.

Zara was speaking.

Her low, musical accents fell like a silver chime on the air.
"I have told you," she said, "again and again that it is impossible.
You waste your life in the pursuit of a phantom; for a phantom I must be to you always--a mere dream, not a woman such as your love would satisfy.

You are a strong man, in sound health and spirits; you care for the world and the things that are in it.

I do not.