But it is not he that speaks to me--not one that showed me the whole world on Ytaioa.

Ah, you have wrapped yourself in a stolen cloak, only you have left your old grey beard behind! Go back to the cave and look for it, and leave me to seek my people alone!" Once more, as on that day in the forest when she prevented me from killing the serpent, and as on the occasion of her meeting with Nuflo after we had been together on Ytaioa, she appeared transformed and instinct with intense resentment--a beautiful human wasp, and every word a sting.
"Rima," I cried, "you are cruelly unjust to say such words to me.

If you know that I have never deceived you before, give me a little credit now.
You are no delusion--no mirage, but Rima, like no other being on earth.
So perfectly truthful and pure I cannot be, but rather than mislead you with falsehoods I would drop down and die on this rock, and lose you and the sweet light that shines on us for ever." As she listened to my words, spoken with passion, she grew pale and clasped her hands.

"What have I said?
What have I said ?" She spoke in a low voice charged with pain, and all at once she came nearer, and with a low, sobbing cry sank down at my feet, uttering, as on the occasion of finding me lost at night in the forest near her home, tender, sorrowful expressions in her own mysterious language.

But before I could take her in my arms she rose again quickly to her feet and moved away a little space from me.
"Oh no, no, it cannot be that you know best!" she began again.