She decked him with the fair garlands of her thoughts, she
made him glisten with her holy oils. She crowned him with starry beams
from her eyes, she sweetened him with the breath of her pure prayers. She
robed him in white and scarlet, for he was wrapped in her soul and
sprinkled with her passion. And she said, 'I love a divine person. I am
ready to die for him. Make haste. Pile the fire, sharpen the knife; bind
me with cords, and drive deep. I die that he may live.' O Gods, and
Sanchia gave herself for Nevile Ingram!"
He was never alone, it appeared, for she was with him constantly, a
vivifying principle. He had ensphered her in light; she was unassailable--
his fly in amber. Ingram, Chevenix, all Wanless, might have daily converse
with her, and one might grudge her her self-sufficiency, and another see
her a pretty girl in a mess. To him she was a fairy in harness, "a lovely
lady garmented in light," to whom the rubs of the world could do no harm.
She wore crystal armour. They did not know her, could not see her, those
who used her for their elemental needs. "Her soul was like a star and
dwelt apart."
He told young Glyde that he had reached this transcendental eyrie of his
by painful degrees.
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