He came to picture the mating of these two--
Sanchia the salient, beautiful woman, and his master of the clear, long-
enduring, searching eyes, and that strange look of second-sight upon him
which those only have who live apart from men, under the sky. It is a look
you can never mistake. Sailors have it, and shepherds, and dwellers in the
desert. The eye sees through you--into you, and beyond you. It is almost
impossible for any person to be either so arresting in himself or
possessed of such utterance as will cause the weathered eye to check its
scanning of distance and concentrate upon an immediate presence. To such
an eye, communing with infinite and eternal things, no creature of time
and space can interpose solidly. Each must be vain and clear as bubbles of
air. Behind it float spirits invisible to other men--essential forms, of
whose company the seer into distance really is. He will neither heed you
nor hear you; his conversation is other-where. And what then would
Senhouse do confronted with Sanchia? Would he look beyond her, towards
some horizon where she could never stand? Or would he not see in her blue
eyes the goal of all his searching--the content of his own? What would he
say but "You!" and take her? What she but sigh her content to be taken?
Appeasement is holiness, says Senhouse.
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