“I do not know,” I said,how long my dream is to last. I wish it would be forever.
My fate received me under the picture of the bird, like a mother, and like a mistress. To it I belong and to no one else.”
“As long as the dream is your fate, so long must you remain true to it,” she said, in earnest confirmation of my remark.
I was very sad, and I wished ardently to die in this hour of enchantment;
I felt the tears —for what an interminably long time had I not wept—rise irresistibly and overmaster me.
I turned violently away from her. I stepped to the window, and looked out, my eyes blinded with tears, away over the flower-pots.
I heard her voice behind me; it rang out calmly and yet was so full of tenderness, like a cup filled to the brim with wine.
“Sinclair, what a child you are! Of course your fate loves you.
One day it will belong to you entirely, just as you dreamt it, if you remain true to it.”
I had composed myself and turned my face to her again.
She gave me her hand. “I have a few friends,” she said, smiling, “very few, very close friends, who call me Mother Eve.
You may call me so as well, if you like.” She led me to the door, opened it and indicated the garden.
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