“Zailm, my son, thou heardst the narration of the Saldu, Lolix. As thou knowest, it is from things arisen out of the occurrences by her related that thou goest on a mission to Suern. It is not a hard task, merely to make return of acknowledgment for the gifts presented and disavowal of our intent to keep as prisoners the people whom Rai Ernon sent hither. We will give them asylum, but Rai Ernon must not think that we permit their presence for any purpose except to do him a favor. Concerning other business, on the morrow it is Rai Gwauxln’s pleasure that thou attendest at Agacoe. But wilt thou not remain here this night?”
“My father, I fain would stay; but is it not duteous that I go unto my mother this night and set her at ease? She hath an infirmity of nervousness that can not well withstand my absence at night.”
“Thou art right, Zailm. Yet soon it must be arranged that thy mother be domiciled in some pleasant part of this astikithlon, so that thou shalt be under thy father’s roof at night.”
I then departed from the prince and from the sweet girl who had been with us during a part of the evening, and went forth into the night. The rain had ceased, and the clouds, rolling across the sky in sullen blackness, had but one rift in their gloomy mass. In this single rent shone a great white star, which at times flashed red. As I looked at it, down close to the horizon, seeming that moment risen from old ocean’s phosphorescent waters, visible from Menax Heights, I thought of the past; for this star had flashed brightly upon me while I awaited the sunrise on Pitach Rhok. So many years it seemed since that morn! To-day this star is called “Sirius,” we named it “Corietos.” As I looked upon it, it seemed an omen auspicious of success, past, present and to come. Raising my hands toward it, I murmured:
“Phyris, Phyrisooa Pertos!” which is: “Star, O star of my life.”
It seems a little singular that the language which is translated thus should have a similar sound and import as to-day used by the people of my home planet. At that old day I raised my hands aloft and exclaimed: “Star, O star of my life!” To-day I turn awhile from precipitating this history in astral word-things, turn to my Alter Ego, and say: “Phyris, Phyrisa.” This is her own dear name, and signifies “Star of my soul.” Peculiar, is it not, that twelve thousand years should pass, and I, member of another race of human beings, in another mansion, find so little change in the language of the soul?
