Was she lost to him already?
Was all that had gone before an idle dream of joy and grief, a wizard's glimpse of mirrored happiness and vague perils?
Was Iris, the crystal-souled--thrown to him by the storm-lashed waves--to be snatched away by some irresistible and malign influence?
In the mere physical effort to assure himself that she was still near to him he gathered her up in his strong hands.

Yes, she was there, breathing, wondering, palpitating.

He folded her closely to his breast, and, yielding to the passionate longings of his tired heart, whispered to her-- "My darling, do you think I can survive your loss?
You are life itself to me.

If we have to die, sweet one, let us die together." Then Iris flung her arms around his neck.
"I am quite, quite happy now," she sobbed brokenly.

"I didn't--imagine--it would come--this way, but--I am thankful--it has come." [Illustration: LOVE, TREMENDOUS IN ITS POWER, UNFATHOMABLE IN ITS MYSTERY, HAD CAST ITS SPELL OVER THEM.] For a little while they yielded to the glamour of the divine knowledge that amidst the chaos of eternity each soul had found its mate.