Others, like the legendary Er, had proved that the pulsing of the soul does not cease with the pulsing of the heart; nevertheless it was well-nigh impossible to rest one's faith in this matter upon the experiences of others. Just in this matter. One was prepared to believe the incredible statements of scientists and astronomers without wrestling individually with their proofs. Why not, therefore, the vision of those who had eyes to see and ears to hear beyond the grave? His own past contact with that death-state was failing to inspire now that his body felt, once more, gloriously alive. One had to remember not to forget.
"Nothing," had said that exasperating duplicate of St. Francis in the islands, "can take away one's spiritual experiences."
To that slender link with the future he must trust. Many had not so much and yet walked untroubled.
Was there not some special revelation for those who, not having seen, were yet ready outside Gethsemane's gates with the bitter admission, "Thou has conquered, O pale Galilean"? The wraith of the dying Emperor, forced to accept such defeat, seemed to smile mockingly at him from the distorted patches of light and shade outside.
Cyprian appreciated afresh that Ferlie would hardly prove courageous enough to face her own defeat now without waiting on his decision. His to lead, forward or back.
And with the poignant realization something snapped. He rose stiffly to his feet to stand a moment at the window, drawing the salt sea-breeze into his lungs.
The surrender had become suddenly possible.
He lifted tired eyes to the on-stealing light and his lips moved. They framed the one word which Ferlie, waking, might have recognized as representing the clarion call of her utter triumph.
"Vicisti," said Cyprian.