It was presumption only, and the bent Of idle talk, when thou didst honour me To wander at thy side our mountain paths. Only because thou didst conceal from me How much thyself dost know, I dared to speak. But now our time is up, and we must go-- A long way hence doth lie our quiet home. FELICIA: It hath been most refreshing once again To come amongst mankind: and yet I fear It will not happen very soon again: There is no other life which Felix deems Better than living in his mountain heights. (Exeunt Felix and his wife.) BENEDICTUS: Indeed I well believe his wife is right, Nor will he come again for many days. It needed much to bring him here today. And yet the reason lies not in himself Why no one knoweth aught of him or his. CAPESIUS: He only seemed to me eccentric, strange; And many an hour I found him talkative When I was with him; but his mystic speech And strange discourse remained obscure to me, When he revealed all that he claims to know. He spoke of solar beings housed in rocks; Of lunar demons, who disturb their work; And of the sense of number hid in plants; And he who listens to him cannot long Keep clear the thread of meaning in his words. BENEDICTUS: And yet 'tis also possible to feel As if the powers of Nature, through these words, Sought to reveal themselves in their true state. (Exit.) STRADER: Already do I feel forebodings strange That now dark hours are coming in my life. For since the days of cloistered solitude, Where I was taught such knowledge, and thereby Struck to the very darkest depth of soul, Not one experience has stirred me so, As this weird vision of the seeress here. CAPESIUS: Indeed I cannot see that aught of that Should prove unnerving. And I fear, my friend, That if thou once dost lose thy certainty, Dark doubt will soon envelop all thy thought. STRADER: Too true! And 'tis the fear of just this doubt That causeth me full many an anxious hour From my experience I know nought else Of this strange gift of seership, save that when Life's vexing problems sorely trouble me, Then, ghostlike, riseth from dark spirit-depths, Before my spirit's eyes, some phantom form Like some dream-being, grim and terrible, Pressing with fearful weight upon my soul, And clutching horribly around my heart. It seems to speak right through me words like these: 'If thou dost fail to gain the victory O'er me with those blunt weapons of thy thought, Thou art a fleeting phantom, nothing more, Formed by thine own deluded imagery.' THEODOSIUS: