“You are right!” he said.  “Doubt is the destroyer of beauty—­the poison in the sweet cup of existence—­the curse which mankind have brought on themselves.  Avoid it as you would the plague.  Believe in anything or everything miraculous and glorious—­the utmost reach of your faith can with difficulty grasp the majestic reality and perfection of everything you can see, desire, or imagine.  Mistrust that volatile thing called Human Reason, which is merely a name for whatever opinion we happen to adopt for the time—­it is a thing which totters on its throne in a fit of rage or despair—­there is nothing infinite about it.  Guide yourself by the delicate Spiritual Instinct within you, which tells you that with God all things are possible, save that He cannot destroy Himself or lessen by one spark the fiery brilliancy of his ever-widening circle of productive Intelligence.  But make no attempt to convert the world to your way of thinking—­it would be mere waste of time.”

“May I never try to instruct anyone in these things?” I asked.

“You can try, if you choose; but you will find most human beings like the herd of swine in the Gospel, possessed by devils that drive them headlong into the sea.  You know, for instance, that angels and aerial spirits actually exist; but were you to assert your belief in them, philosophers (so-called) would scout your theories as absurd, —­though their idea of a lonely God, who yet is Love, is the very acme of absurdity.  For Love must have somewhat to love, and must create the beauty and happiness round itself and the things beloved.  But why point out these simple things to those who have no desire to see?  Be content, child, that you have been deemed worthy of instruction—­it is a higher fate for you than if you had been made a Queen.”

The little page now entered, and told me that the carriage was at the door in waiting.  As he disappeared again after delivering this message, Heliobas rose from his chair, and taking my two hands in his, pressed them kindly.

“One word more, little friend, on the subject of your career.  I think the time will come when you will feel that music is almost too sacred a thing to be given away for money to a careless and promiscuous public.  However this may be, remember that scarce one of the self-styled artists who cater for the crowd deserves to be called musician in the highest sense of the word.  Most of them seek not music, but money and applause; and therefore the art they profess is degraded by them into a mere trade.  But you, when you play in public, must forget that persons with little vanities and lesser opinions exist.  Think of what you saw in your journey with Azul; and by a strong effort of your will, you can, if you choose, compel certain harmonies to sound in your ears—­fragments of what is common breathing air to the Children of the Ring, some of whom you saw—­and you will be able to reproduce