Two years had passed like a dream in the pleasant valley which, in far later ages, the Romans called Vallis Aurea, and which we call Vallauris.  Here, at a distance of some thirty miles from the cave and the tribe, dwelt in fancied concealment Why-Why and Verva.  The clear stream was warbling at their feet, in the bright blue weather of spring; the scent of the may blossoms was poured abroad, and, lying in the hollow of Why-Why’s shield, a pretty little baby with Why-Why’s dark eyes and Verva’s golden locks was crowing to his mother.  Why-Why sat beside her, and was busily making the first European pipkin with the clay which he had found near Vallauris.  All was peace.

There was a low whizzing sound, something seemed to rush past Why-Why, and with a scream Verva fell on her face.  A spear had pierced her breast.  With a yell like that of a wounded lion, Why-Why threw himself on the bleeding body of his bride.  For many moments he heard no sound but her long, loud and unconscious breathing.  He did not mark the yells of his tribesmen, nor feel the spears that rained down on himself, nor see the hideous face of the chief medicine-man peering at his own.  Verva ceased to breathe.  There was a convulsion, and her limbs were still.  Then Why-Why rose.  In his right hand was his famous club, “the watcher of the fords;” in his left his shield.  These had never lain far from his hand since he fled with Verva.

He knew that the end had come, as he had so often dreamt of it; he knew that he was trapped and taken by his offended tribesmen.  His first blow shattered the head of the chief medicine-man.  Then he flung himself, all bleeding from the spears, among the press of savages who started from every lentisk bush and tuft of tall flowering heath.  They gave back when four of their chief braves had fallen, and Why-Why lacked strength and will to pursue them.  He turned and drew Verva’s body beneath the rocky wall, and then he faced his enemies.  He threw down shield and club and raised his hands.  A light seemed to shine about his face, and his first word had a strange tone that caught the ear and chilled the heart of all who heard him.  “Listen,” he said, “for these are the last words of Why-Why.  He came like the water, and like the wind he goes, he knew not whence, and he knows not whither.  He does not curse you, for you are that which you are.  But the day will come” (and here Why-Why’s voice grew louder and his eyes burned), “the day will come when you will no longer be the slave of things like that dead dog,” and here he pointed to the shapeless face of the slain medicine-man.  “The day will come, when a man shall speak unto his sister in loving kindness, and none shall do him wrong.  The day will come when a woman shall unpunished see the face and name the name of her husband.  As the summers go by you will not bow down to the hyaenas, and the bears, and worship the adder and the viper.  You will not cut and bruise the bodies of your young men, or cruelly strike and seize away women in the darkness.  Yes, and the time will be when a man may love a woman of the same family name as himself” ­but here the outraged religion of the tribesmen could endure no longer to listen to these wild and blasphemous words.  A shower of spears flew out, and Why-Why fell across the body of Verva.  His own was “like a marsh full of reeds,” said the poet of the tribe, in a song which described these events, “so thick the spears stood in it.”

When he was dead, the tribe knew what they had lost in Why-Why.  They bore his body, with that of Verva, to the cave; there they laid the lovers ­Why-Why crowned with a crown of sea-shells, and with a piece of a rare magical substance (iron) at his side. Then the tribesmen withdrew from that now holy ground, and built them houses, and forswore the follies of the medicine-men, as Why-Why had prophesied.  Many thousands of years later the cave was opened when the railway to Genoa was constructed, and the bones of Why-Why, with the crown, and the fragment of iron, were found where they had been laid by his repentant kinsmen.  He had bravely asserted the rights of the individual conscience against the dictates of Society; he had lived, and loved, and died, not in vain.  Last April I plucked a rose beside his cave, and laid it with another that had blossomed at the door of the last house which covered the homeless head of SHELLEY.

The prophecies of Why-Why have been partially fulfilled.  Brothers, if they happen to be on speaking terms, may certainly speak to their sisters, though we are still, alas, forbidden to marry the sisters of our deceased wives.  Wives may see their husbands, though in Society, they rarely avail themselves of the privilege.  Young ladies are still forbidden to call young men at large by their Christian names; but this tribal law, and survival of the classificatory system, is rapidly losing its force.  Burials in the savage manner to which Why-Why objected, will soon, doubtless, be permitted to conscientious Nonconformists in the graveyards of the Church of England.  The teeth of boys are still knocked out at public and private schools, but the ceremony is neither formal nor universal.  Our advance in liberty is due to an army of forgotten Radical martyrs of whom we know less than we do of Mr. Bradlaugh.