Just then the sun went behind a cloud, and only a side-beam of radiance shot forth, pouring itself straight down on the royally attired figure of the monarch and the headless body of Khosrul, and at the same time bringing into sudden and prominent relief the silver Cross that glittered on the breast of the bleeding corpse, and that seemed to mysteriously offer itself as the Key to some unsolved Enigma.  As if drawn by one strangely mutual attraction, all eyes, even those of Zephoranim himself, turned instinctively toward the flashing Emblem, which appeared to burn like living fire on that perished mass of stiffening clay, . . and there was a brief silence,—­a pause, during which Theos, who had watched everything with curiously calm interest, such as may be felt by a spectator watching the progress of a finely acted tragedy, became conscious of the same singular sensation he had already several times experienced,—­namely, that he had witnessed the whole of this scene before!

he remembered it quite well,—­particularly that apparently trifling incident of the sunlight happening to shine so brilliantly on the dead man and his cross while the rest of the vast assemblage were in comparative shadow.  It was very odd! ... his memory was like a wonderful art-gallery in which some pictures were fresh of tint, while others were dim and faded, . . but this special “tableau” in the Square of Al-Kyris was very distinctly painted in brilliant and vivid colors on the sombre background of his past recollections, and he found the circumstance so remarkable that he was on the point of saying something to Sah-luma about it,—­when the sun came out again in full splendor, and Zephoranim’s spirited steeds started forward at a canter.

The King, controlling them easily with one hand, extended the other majestically by way of formal salutation to his people, . . his tall, muscular form was displayed to the best advantage,—­the narrow jewelled fillet that bound his rough dark locks emitted a myriad scintillations of light, . . his close-fitting coat-of-mail, woven from thousands of small links of gold, set off his massive chest and shoulders to perfection,—­and as he moved along royally in his sumptuous car, the effect of his striking presence was such, that a complete change took place in the before sullen humor of the populace.  For seeing him thus alive and well in direct opposition to Khosrul’s ominous prediction,—­even as Sah-luma also stood unharmed in spite of his having been apostrophized as a “dying” Poet,—­the mob, always fickle and always dazzled by outward show, suddenly set up a deafening roar of cheering.  The pallid hue of terror vanished from faces that had but lately looked spectrally thin with speechless dread, and crowds of servile petitioners and place-hunters began to press eagerly round their monarch’s chariot, ... when all at once a woman in the throng gave a wild scream and rushed away shrieking “The obelisk! ...  The obelisk!”