She paused again,—­and again continued:  “Nevertheless, in some degree thy Vision of Al-Kyris was true, inasmuch as thou wert shown therein as in a mirror, one phase, one only of thy former existence upon earth.  The final episode was chosen,—­as by the end of a man’s days alone shall he be judged!  As much as thy dreaming-sight was able to see,—­as much as thy brain was able to bear, appeared before thee, ... but that thou, slumbering, wert yet a conscious Personality among Phantoms, and that these phantoms spoke to thee, charmed thee, bewildered thee, tempted thee, and swayed thee, . . this was the Divine Master’s work upon thine own retrospective Thought and Memory.  He gave the shadows of thy bygone life, seeming color, sense, motion, and speech,—­He blotted out from thy remembrance His own Most Holy Name, . . and, shutting up the Present from thy gaze, He sent thy spirit back into the Past.  There, thou, perplexed and sorrowful, didst painfully re-weave the last fragments of thy former history, . . and not till thou hadst abandoned the Shadow of Thyself, didst thou escape from the fear of destruction!  Then, when apparently all alone, and utterly forsaken, a cloud of angels circled round thee, . .  Then, at thy first repentant cry for help, He who has never left an earnest prayer unanswered bade me descend hither, to waken and comfort thee! ...  Oh, never was His bidding more joyously obeyed!  Now I have plainly shown thee the interpretation of thy Dream, . . and dost thou not comprehend the intention of the Highest in manifesting it unto thee?  Remember the words of God’s Prophet of old: 

      “’Behold the Field thou thoughtest barren, how great a glory
        hath the moon unveiled! 
      “’And I beheld and was sore amazed, for I was no longer
        Myself, but Another
      “’And the sword of death was in that Other’s soul,—­and yet
        that Other was but Myself in pain
      “’And I knew not the things which were once familiar, and my
        heart failed within me for very fear!’”

She spoke the quaint and mystic lines with a grave, pure, rhythmic utterance that was like the far-off singing of sweet psalmody;—­ and when she ceased, the stillness that followed seemed quivering with the rich vibrations of her voice, ... the very air was surely rendered softer and more delicate by such soul-moving sound!

But Theos, who had listened dumbly until now, began to feel a sudden sorrowful aching at his heart, a sense of coming desolation, . . a consciousness that she would soon depart again, and leave him and, with a mingled reverence and passion, he ventured to draw one of the fair hands that rested on his brows, down into his own clasp.  He met with no resistance, and half-happy, half-agonized, he pressed his lips upon its soft and dazzling whiteness, while the longing of his soul broke forth in words of fervid, irrepressible appeal.