"None but thy true mate," she answered. "Thou hast kept thyself pure
for me even as I have kept myself passionate for thee. Come, thou
shalt make me pure, and I will make thee passionate."
He looked at her wistfully. The cool plash of the fountain was
pleasant in the silence.
"I make thee pure!" he breathed.
"Ay," and she repeated softly:--
"'Pure and white as the snows,
Melisselda.'"
"Melisselda!" he whispered.
"Messiah!" she cried, with heaving bosom. "Come, I will teach thee the
joy of life. Together we will rule the world. What! when thou hast
redeemed the world, shall it not rejoice, shall not the morning stars
sing together? My King, my Sabbataï."
Her figure was a queen's, her eyes were stars, her lips a woman's.
"Kiss me!" they pleaded. "Thy long martyrdom is over. Now begins _my_
mission--to bring thee joy. So hath it been revealed to me."
"Hath it been indeed revealed to thee?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Yea, again and again, in dreams of the night. The bride of the
Messiah--so runs my destiny. Embrace thy bride."
His eyes kindled to hers. He seemed in a circle of dazzling white
flame that exalted and not destroyed.
"Then I am Messiah, indeed," he thought, glowing, and, stooping, he
knew for the first time the touch of a woman's lips.