“Thy spells,” returned his interlocutor, “having hitherto failed to afford his majesty the slightest relief, and his experience of their efficacy on a former occasion forbidding him to suppose that they can be inoperative, he is naturally led to ascribe to their pernicious influence that aggravation of pain of which he has for some time past unfortunately been sensible.  I have confirmed him in this conjecture, esteeming it for the interest of science that his anger should fall upon an impudent impostor like thee rather than on a discreet and learned physician like myself.  He has consequently directed the principal caldron to be kept boiling all night, intending to immerse thee therein at daybreak, unless he should in the meantime derive some benefit from thy conjurations.”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Ananda, “whither shall I fly?”

“Nowhere beyond this cemetery,” returned the physician, “inasmuch as it is entirely surrounded by the royal forces.”

“Wherein, then,” demanded the agonized apostle, “doth the path of safety lie?”

“In this phial,” answered the physician.  “It contains a subtle poison.  Demand to be led before the king.  Affirm that thou hast received a sovereign medicine from the hands of benignant spirits.  He will drink it and perish, and thou wilt be richly rewarded by his successor.”

“Ayaunt, tempter!” cried Ananda, hurling the phial indignantly away.  “I defy thee! and will have recourse to my old deliverer—­Gnooh Imdap Inam Mua!"

But the charm appeared to fail of its effect.  No figure was visible to his gaze, save that of the physician, who seemed to regard him with an expression of pity as he gathered up his robes and melted rather than glided into the encompassing darkness.

Ananda remained, contending with himself.  Countless times was he on the point of calling after the physician and imploring him to return with a potion of like properties to the one rejected, but something seemed always to rise in his throat and impede his utterance, until, worn out by agitation, he fell asleep and dreamed this dream.

He thought he stood at the vast and gloomy entrance of Patala. [*] The lugubrious spot wore a holiday appearance; everything seemed to denote a diabolical gala.  Swarms of demons of all shapes and sizes beset the portal, contemplating what appeared to be preparations for an illumination.  Strings of coloured lamps were in course of disposition in wreaths and festoons by legions of frolicsome imps, chattering, laughing, and swinging by their tails like so many monkeys.  The operation was directed from below by superior fiends of great apparent gravity and respectability.  These bore wands of office, tipped with yellow flames, wherewith they singed the tails of the imps when such discipline appeared to them to be requisite.  Ananda could not refrain from asking the reason of these festive preparations.

[Footnote:  The Hindoo Pandemonium.]