my own apartment, I was more than half inclined to sit up reading and studying the parchments Heliobas had given me; but on second thoughts I resolved to lock up these precious manuscripts and go to bed.  I did so, and before preparing to sleep I remembered to kneel down and offer up praise and honour, with a loving and believing heart, to that Supreme Glory, of which I had been marvellously permitted to enjoy a brief but transcendent glimpse.  And as I knelt, absorbed and happy, I heard, like a soft echo falling through the silence of my room, a sound like distant music, through which these words floated towards me:  “A new commandment give I unto you, that you love one another, even as I have loved you!”

CHAPTER XIII.

Sociable converse.

The next morning Zara came herself to awaken me, looking as fresh and lovely as a summer morning.  She embraced me very tenderly, and said: 

“I have been talking for more than an hour with Casimir.  He has told me everything.  What wonders you have seen!  And are you not happy, dearest?  Are you not strong and satisfied?”

“Perfectly!” I replied.  “But, O Zara! what a pity that all the world should not know what we know!”

“All have not a desire for knowledge,” replied Zara.  “Even in your vision of the garden you possessed, there were only a few who still sought you; for those few you would have done anything, but for the others your best efforts were in vain.”

“They might not have been always in vain,” I said musingly.

“No, they might not,” agreed Zara.  “That is just the case of the world to-day.  While there is life in it, there is also hope.  And talking of the world, let me remind you that you are back in it now, and must therefore be hampered with tiresome trivialities.  Two of these are as follows; First, here is a letter for you, which has just come; secondly, breakfast will be ready in twenty minutes!”

I looked at her smiling face attentively.  She was the very embodiment of vigorous physical health and beauty; it seemed like a dream to remember her in the past night, guarded by that invincible barrier, the work of no mortal hand.  I uttered nothing, however, of these thoughts, and responding to her evident gaiety of heart, I smiled also.

“I will be down punctually at the expiration of the twenty minutes,” I said.  “I assure you, Zara, I am quite sensible of the claims of earthly existence upon me.  For instance, I am very hungry, and I shall enjoy breakfast immensely if you will make the coffee.”

Zara, who among her other accomplishments had the secret of making coffee to perfection, promised laughingly to make it extra well, and flitted from the room, singing softly as she went a fragment of the Neapolitan Stornello: 

  “Fior di mortelle
   Queste manine tue son tanto belle! 
   Fior di limone
   Ti voglio far morire di passione
   Salta! lari—­lira.”