I asked her why, seeing that though a long-lived one, she was still a
woman, whereon her face assumed a calm but terrifying smile, and she
answered--"Art so sure, my Holly? Tell me, do your women wear such
jewels as that set upon my brow?" and she pointed to the faint but
lambent light which glowed about her forehead.
More, she began slowly to stroke her abundant hair, then her breast and
body. Wherever her fingers passed the mystic light was born, until in
that darkened room--for the dusk was gathering--she shimmered from head
to foot like the water of a phosphorescent sea, a being glorious yet
fearful to behold. Then she waved her hand, and, save for the gentle
radiance on her brow, became as she had been.
"Art so sure, my Holly?" Ayesha repeated. "Nay, shrink not; that flame
will not burn thee. Mayhap thou didst but imagine it, as I have noted
thou dost imagine many things; for surely no woman could clothe herself
in light and live, nor has so much as the smell of fire passed upon my
garments."
Then at length my patience was outworn, and I grew angry.
"I am sure of nothing, Ayesha," I answered, "except that thou wilt make
us mad with all these tricks and changes. Say, art thou a spirit then?"
"We are all spirits," she said reflectively, "and I, perhaps, more than
some. Who can be certain?"
"Not I," I answered.
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