“Ah, the fierce-hearted wolves,” she said, “the followers of Sense and many gods—­greedy of gain and faction-torn.  I can see their dark faces yet.  So they crucified their Messiah?  Well can I believe it.  That He was a Son of the Living Spirit would be naught to them, if indeed He was so, and of that we will talk afterwards.  They would care naught for any God if He came not with pomp and power.  They, a chosen people, a vessel of Him they call Jehovah, ay, and a vessel of Baal, and a vessel of Astoreth, and a vessel of the gods of the Egyptians—­a high-stomached people, greedy of aught that brought them wealth and power.  So they crucified their Messiah because He came in lowly guise—­and now are they scattered about the earth?  Why, if I remember, so said one of their prophets that it should be.  Well, let them go—­they broke my heart, those Jews, and made me look with evil eyes across the world, ay, and drove me to this wilderness, this place of a people that was before them.  When I would have taught them wisdom in Jerusalem they stoned me, ay, at the Gate of the Temple those white-bearded hypocrites and Rabbis hounded the people on to stone me!  See, here is the mark of it to this day!” and with a sudden move she pulled up the gauzy wrapping on her rounded arm, and pointed to a little scar that showed red against its milky beauty.

I shrank back, horrified.

“Pardon me, oh Queen,” I said, “but I am bewildered.  Nigh upon two thousand years have rolled across the earth since the Jewish Messiah hung upon His cross at Golgotha.  How then canst thou have taught thy philosophy to the Jews before He was?  Thou art a woman and no spirit.  How can a woman live two thousand years?  Why dost thou befool me, oh Queen?”

She leaned back upon the couch, and once more I felt the hidden eyes playing upon me and searching out my heart.

“Oh man!” she said at last, speaking very slowly and deliberately, “it seems that there are still things upon the earth of which thou knowest naught.  Dost thou still believe that all things die, even as those very Jews believed?  I tell thee that naught dies.  There is no such thing as Death, though there be a thing called Change.  See,” and she pointed to some sculptures on the rocky wall.  “Three times two thousand years have passed since the last of the great race that hewed those pictures fell before the breath of the pestilence which destroyed them, yet are they not dead.  E’en now they live; perchance their spirits are drawn towards us at this very hour,” and she glanced round.  “Of a surety it sometimes seems to me that my eyes can see them.”

“Yes, but to the world they are dead.”