Pygmalions Spectacles | Page 8

laws, you should stay. But you can't, dear one.
You can't!"
Forgotten now were the words of the Grey Weaver. "I love you,
Galatea," he said.
"And I you," she whispered. "See, dearest shadow, how I break the
same law my mother broke, and am glad to face the sorrow it will
bring." She placed her hand tenderly over his. "Leucon is very wise and
I am bound to obey him, but this is beyond his wisdom because he let
himself grow old." She paused. "He let himself grow old," she repeated
slowly. A strange light gleamed in her dark eyes as she turned suddenly
to Dan.
"Dear one!" she said tensely. "That thing that happens to the old--that
death of yours! What follows it?"
"What follows death?" he echoed. "Who knows?"
"But--" Her voice was quivering. "But one can't simply--vanish! There
must be an awakening."

"Who knows?" said Dan again. "There are those who believe we wake
to a happier world, but--" He shook his head hopelessly.
"It must be true! Oh, it must be!" Galatea cried. "There must be more
for you than the mad world you speak of!" She leaned very close.
"Suppose, dear," she said, "that when my appointed lover arrives, I
send him away. Suppose I bear no child, but let myself grow old, older
than Leucon, old until death. Would I join you in your happier world?"
"Galatea!" he cried distractedly. "Oh, my dearest--what a terrible
thought!"
"More terrible than you know," she whispered, still very close to him.
"It is more than violation of a law; it is rebellion! Everything is planned,
everything was foreseen, except this; and if I bear no child, her place
will be left unfilled, and the places of her children, and of their children,
and so on until some day the whole great plan of Paracosma fails of
whatever its destiny was to be." Her whisper grew very faint and
fearful. "It is destruction, but I love you more than I fear--death!"
Dan's arms were about her. "No, Galatea! No! Promise me!"
She murmured, "I can promise and then break my promise." She drew
his head down; their lips touched, and he felt a fragrance and a taste
like honey in her kiss. "At least," she breathed. "I can give you a name
by which to love you. Philometros! Measure of my love!"
"A name?" muttered Dan. A fantastic idea shot through his mind--a
way of proving to himself that all this was reality, and not just a page
that any one could read who wore old Ludwig's magic spectacles. If
Galatea would speak his name! Perhaps, he thought daringly, perhaps
then he could stay! He thrust her away.
"Galatea!" he cried. "Do you remember my name?"
She nodded silently, her unhappy eyes on his.
"Then say it! Say it, dear!"

She stared at him dumbly, miserably, but made no sound.
"Say it, Galatea!" he pleaded desperately. "My name, dear--just my
name!" Her mouth moved; she grew pale with effort and Dan could
have sworn that his name trembled on her quivering lips, though no
sound came.
At last she spoke. "I can't, dearest one! Oh, I can't! A law forbids it!"
She stood suddenly erect, pallid as an ivory carving. "Leucon calls!"
she said, and darted away. Dan followed along the pebbled path, but
her speed was beyond his powers; at the portal he found only the Grey
Weaver standing cold and stern. He raised his hand as Dan appeared.
"Your time is short," he said. "Go, thinking of the havoc you have
done."
"Where's Galatea?" gasped Dan.
"I have sent her away." The old man blocked the entrance; for a
moment Dan would have struck him aside, but something withheld him.
He stared wildly about the meadow--there! A flash of silver beyond the
river, at the edge of the forest. He turned and raced toward it, while
motionless and cold the Grey Weaver watched him go.
"Galatea!" he called. "Galatea!"
He was over the river now, on the forest bank, running through
columned vistas that whirled about him like mist. The world had gone
cloudy; fine flakes danced like snow before his eyes; Paracosma was
dissolving around him. Through the chaos he fancied a glimpse of the
girl, but closer approach left him still voicing his hopeless cry of
"Galatea!"
After an endless time, he paused; something familiar about the spot
struck him, and just as the red sun edged above him, he recognized the
place--the very point at which he had entered Paracosma! A sense of
futility overwhelmed him as for a moment he gazed at an unbelievable
apparition--a dark window hung in midair before him through which

glowed rows of electric lights. Ludwig's window!
It vanished. But the trees writhed and the sky darkened, and he swayed