“Desolate Zaroba!” said El-Râmi, slowly lifting his hands. “Widowed and solitary soul! Deaf to the outer noises of the world, let the ears of thy spirit be open to my voice--and hear thou all the music of the past! Lo, the bygone years return to thee and picture themselves afresh upon thy tired brain!--again thou dost listen to the voices of thy children at play,--the wild Arabian desert spreads out before thee in the sun like a sea of gold,--the tall palms lift themselves against the burning sky--the tent is pitched by the cool spring of fresh water,--and thy savage mate, wearied out with long travel, sleeps, pillowed on thy breast. Thou art young again, Zaroba!--young, fair, and beloved!--be happy so! Dream and rest!” As he spoke he took the aged woman’s unresisting hands and laid her gently, gently, by gradual degrees down in a recumbent posture, and placing a cushion under her head watched her for a few seconds. “By Heaven!” he muttered, as he heard her regular breathing and noted the perfectly composed expression of her face. “Are dreams after all the only certain joys of life? A poet’s fancies,--a painter’s visions--the cloud-castles of a boy’s imaginings--all dreams!--and only such dreamers can be called happy. Neither Fate nor Fortune can destroy their pleasure,--they make sport of kings and hold great nations as the merest toys of thought--oh sublime audacity of Vision! Would I could dream so!--or rather, would I could prove my dreams not dreams at all, but the reflections of the absolute Real! Hamlet again! “‘To die--to sleep;-- To sleep!--perchance to dream; ay, there’s the rub!’ Imagine it!--to die and _dream_ of Heaven--or Hell--and all the while if there should be no reality in either!” With one more glance at the now soundly slumbering Zaroba, he went back to the couch, and gazed long and earnestly at the exquisite maiden there reclined,--then bending over her, he took her small fair left hand in his own, pressing his fingers hard round the delicate wrist. “Lilith!--Lilith!” he said in low, yet commanding accents. “Lilith!--Speak to me! I am here!” V. Deep silence followed his invocation,--a silence he seemed to expect and be prepared for. Looking at a silver timepiece on a bracket above the couch, he mentally counted slowly a hundred beats,--then pressing the fragile wrist he held still more firmly between his fingers, he touched with his other hand the girl’s brow, just above her closed eyes. A faint quiver ran through the delicate body,--he quickly drew back and spoke again. “Lilith! Where are you?” The sweet lips parted, and a voice soft as whispered music responded-- “I am here!” “Is all well with you?” “All is well!” And a smile irradiated the fair face with such a light as to suggest that the eyes must have opened,--but no!--they were fast shut. El-Râmi resumed his strange interrogation. “Lilith! What do you see?” There was a moment’s pause,--then came the slow response--