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"Thou canst not miss the way!" responded Edris softly, . . "Look up, my Theos, be of good cheer, thou Poet to whom Heaven's greatest gifts of Song are now accorded! Look up and tell me, . . is not the way made plain?"
Above him sparkled the morning star, white and glittering as a silver lamp, among the delicate spreading tints of saffron and green, . . and beside him, her clear, pure features flushed by the roseate splendor of the sky, her hands clasped on her breast, and her sweet eyes full of an infinite tenderness and yearning, knelt EDRIS! Edris, his flower-crowned Angel, whom last he had seen drifting upward and away like a dove through the glory of the Cross in Heaven!
"Edris!". he cried loudly, his former transport of delight changed into agony.. "Edris! ... Come to me! I cannot come to you! What is this that parts us?" "Death!" she answered.. and the solemn word seemed to toll slowly through the still air like a knell. He stood bewildered and dismayed. Death! What could she mean?
Ah! how wistfully, how fondly she looked upon him! ... Almost it seemed as if she might, after all, consent to stay! ... He stretched out his arms with a pathetic gesture of love, fear, and soul-passionate supplication. "Edris! ... Edris!".. he cried half despairingly. "Oh, by the strength of thine Angelhood have pity on the weakness of my Manhood!"
Heaven is not all Heaven to me without thee, my Beloved, . . and now in this time of thy last probation, . . now, if thou lovest me indeed ..." "Love thee?" suddenly exclaimed Theos, half beside himself with the strange passion of yearning her words awakened in him "Love thee, Edris?
It was about noon, when, falling in, as good fortune would have it, with one of the fugitive grooms, Damian and his immediate attendants received information of the violence committed on the Lady Eveline, and, by their perfect knowledge of the country, wore able to intercept the ruffians at the Pass of Edris, as it was called, by which the Welsh rovers ordinarily returned to their strongholds in the interior.
He met with no resistance, and half- happy, half-agonized, he pressed his lips upon its soft and dazzling whiteness, while the longing of his soul broke forth in words of fervid, irrepressible appeal. "Edris!" he implored.. "If thou dost love me give me my death!
This was his task, . . and the very comprehension of it gave him a rush of vigor and virile energy that at once lifted the cloud of love-loneliness from his soul. "My Edris!" he whispered.. "Thou shalt have no cause to weep for me in Heaven again! ... with God's help I will win back my lost heritage!"
The fancy of the bards, always captivated with magnificence, and having no objections to the peculiar species of profusion practised by this potentate, gave him the surname of Edris of the Goblets; and celebrated him in their odes in terms as high as those which exalt the heroes of the famous Hirlas Horn.
"My name is EDRIS!" she said, and as the pure bell-like tone of her voice smote the air with its silvery sound, the mysterious music of the organ and the invisible singers throbbed away, away, away, into softer and softer echoes, that died at last tremulously and with a sigh, as of farewell, into the deepest silence.
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