Theos was mute,—­he had no defense to offer.  The crowd still stared upon him,—­and his heart beat fast with a mingled sense of fear and pride—­fear of his present surroundings,—­pride that he had spoken out his conviction boldly, reckless of all consequences.  And this pride was a most curious thing to analyze, because it did not so much consist in the fact of his having openly confessed his inward thought, as that he felt he had gained some special victory in thus acknowledging his belief in the positive existence of the “Saviour” who formed the subject of Khosrul’s prophecy.  Full of a singular sort of self-congratulation which yet had nothing to do with selfishness, he became so absorbed in his own reflections that he started like a man brusquely aroused from sleep when the Prophet’s strong grave voice apostrophized him personally over the heads of the throng: 

“Who and what art thou, that dost speak of the future as though it were the past?  Hast thou held converse with the Angels, and is Past and Future one with thee in the dream of the departing Present?  Answer me, thou stranger to the city of Al-Kyris! ...  Has God taught thee the way to Everlasting Life?”

Again that awful silence made itself felt like a deadly chill on the sunlit air,—­the quiet, patient crowds seemed waiting in hushed suspense for some reply which should be as a flash of spiritual enlightenment to leap from one to the other with kindling heat and radiance, and vivify them all into a new and happier existence.  But now, when Theos most strongly desired to speak, he remained dumb as stone! ... vainly he struggled against and contended with the invisible, mysterious, and relentless despotism that smote him on the mouth as it were, and deprived him of all power of utterance, ... his tongue was stiff and frozen, ... his very lips were sealed!  Trembling violently, he gazed beseechingly at Sah-luma, who held his arm in a firm and friendly grasp, and who, apparently quickly perceiving that he was distressed and embarrassed, undertook himself to furnish forth what he evidently considered a fitting response to Khosrul’s adjuration.

“Most venerable Seer!” he cried mockingly, his bright face radiant with mirth and his dark eyes flashing a careless contempt as he spoke—­“Thou art as short-sighted as thine own auguries if thou canst not at once comprehend the drift of my friend’s humor!  He hath caught the infection of thy fanatic eloquence, and, like thee, knows naught of what he says:  moreover he hath good wine and sunlight mingled in his blood, whereby he hath been doubtless moved to play a jest upon thee.  I pray thee heed him not!  He is as free to declare thy Prophecy is of the past, as thou art to insist on its being of the future,—­in both ways ’tis a most foolish fallacy!  Nevertheless, continue thy entertaining discourse, Sir Graybeard! . . . and