There was a long, still pause. The clear light grew clearer, the crimson deepened with inner fire, two or three little cloud-boats near the horizon were gay with rosy glow; but the shimmering valley mists had passed quietly away. The world was ready and waiting. Yet still Surya, rejoicing in the magnificence of his pageantry, delayed his coming, till the man upon the mountain top, impatient of the time, bethought him of his treasure, pulled the golden box from beneath his robe, opened it, and let the contents fall into his hand. The ruby seemed a talisman; for, as Oman held the clear stone against the sky, the first fire-beam shot above the horizon, and the great, flaming wheel rolled up from behind a far-off hill. The world broke into the climax of its morning song; and, in his heart, Oman also sang: strange words, fitted to a wondrous melody. Then, by degrees, he was silent again, his eyes, lowered from the too dazzling light, fixed upon the fiery heart of Churi’s legacy—the Asra ruby. As Oman gazed into the scintillating depths of this rare and wonderful stone, he was thrown into a kind of waking slumber, a trance, in which scenes of a dim-lit past crowded upon him. Churi’s tale returned:—the young prince in captivity, who had bought his love with this stone:—Fidá el-Asra. Oman saw him, clearly, standing in a small and richly furnished room, beside a woman clad in clinging, scarlet draperies, a wreath of poppies woven in her heavy hair. This woman’s face grew more distinct, and shone almost transparent, till, as she gazed into the face of the man, a faint smile lighted her lips. But there was a mournful sadness in her lustrous eyes; and, seeing these eyes, Oman’s heart throbbed with understanding. This man and this woman, burning in the depths of the ruby, were no vision. Nay, he knew them both: _he_, Oman, the outcast, the hermit. But how explain the reality of the dream? Had he sheltered the twain in his own breast? How else came he to know their suffering: to suffer with them? How else was it that he saw the dark shadow of crime lying on both their hearts? How else that a gurgle and rush of water sounded in his ears, and that he shuddered as he felt the chilly contact? How else could he realize the terror of helplessness that had been upon these two souls, as they rose together from the embracing waters, to that space where water could not hide their deed? How, finally, was it that, straightway after this, he was himself again, standing upon the height where his battle had been fought and won, and where the vision had appeared? The jewel was still glowing in his fingers; the sun was only just upon the edge of the horizon;—but he had lived a year in three minutes. Did this mendicant’s gem hold within it some baleful magic? With a sudden sense of revulsion he dropped the ruby back into its box, thrust it out of sight under his robe, and, shaking away the still clinging dream, walked slowly back into his cave.