The feast was over, the music sank into a low and subdued strain, and Arbaces thus addressed his beautiful guest: 

’Hast thou never in this dark and uncertain world—­hast thou never aspired, my pupil, to look beyond—­hast thou never wished to put aside the veil of futurity, and to behold on the shores of Fate the shadowy images of things to be?  For it is not the past alone that has its ghosts:  each event to come has also its spectrum—­its shade; when the hour arrives, life enters it, the shadow becomes corporeal, and walks the world.  Thus, in the land beyond the grave, are ever two impalpable and spiritual hosts—­the things to be, the things that have been!  If by our wisdom we can penetrate that land, we see the one as the other, and learn, as I have learned, not alone the mysteries of the dead, but also the destiny of the living.’

‘As thou hast learned!—­Can wisdom attain so far?’

’Wilt thou prove my knowledge, Ione, and behold the representation of thine own fate?  It is a drama more striking than those of AEschylus:  it is one I have prepared for thee, if thou wilt see the shadows perform their part.’

The Neapolitan trembled; she thought of Glaucus, and sighed as well as trembled:  were their destinies to be united?  Half incredulous, half believing, half awed, half alarmed by the words of her strange host, she remained for some moments silent, and then answered: 

’It may revolt—­it may terrify; the knowledge of the future will perhaps only embitter the present!’

’Not so, Ione.  I have myself looked upon thy future lot, and the ghosts of thy Future bask in the gardens of Elysium:  amidst the asphodel and the rose they prepare the garlands of thy sweet destiny, and the Fates, so harsh to others, weave only for thee the web of happiness and love.  Wilt thou then come and behold thy doom, so that thou mayest enjoy it beforehand?’

Again the heart of Ione murmured ‘Glaucus’; she uttered a half-audible assent; the Egyptian rose, and taking her by the hand, he led her across the banquet-room—­the curtains withdrew as by magic hands, and the music broke forth in a louder and gladder strain; they passed a row of columns, on either side of which fountains cast aloft their fragrant waters; they descended by broad and easy steps into a garden.  The eve had commenced; the moon was already high in heaven, and those sweet flowers that sleep by day, and fill, with ineffable odorous, the airs of night, were thickly scattered amidst alleys cut through the star-lit foliage; or, gathered in baskets, lay like offerings at the feet of the frequent statues that gleamed along their path.

‘Whither wouldst thou lead me, Arbaces?’ said Ione, wonderingly.

‘But yonder,’ said he, pointing to a small building which stood at the end of the vista.  ’It is a temple consecrated to the Fates—­our rites require such holy ground.’

They passed into a narrow hall, at the end of which hung a sable curtain.  Arbaces lifted it; Ione entered, and found herself in total darkness.