therefore deem them impossible;—­they are the gold-fish born in a bowl, who have no consciousness of the existence of an ocean.  Moreover, you have no proofs of the truth of your narrative, beyond the change in your own life and disposition,—­and that can be easily referred to various other causes.  You spoke of having gathered one of the miracle-flowers on the Prophet’s field,—­may I see it?”

Silently Alwyn drew from his breast-pocket the velvet case in which he always kept the cherished blossom, and taking it tenderly out, placed it in his companion’s hand.

“An immortelle”—­said Heliobas softly, while the flower, uncurling its silvery petals in the warmth of his palm, opened star-like and white as snow.  “An immortelle, rare and possibly unique!—­that is all the world would say of it!  It cannot be matched,—­it will not fade,—­true! but you will get no one to believe that!  Frown not, good Poet!—­I want you to consider me for the moment a practical worldling, bent on driving you from the spiritual position yon have taken up,—­and you will see how necessary it is for you to keep the secret of your own enlightenment to yourself, or at least only hint at it through the parables of poesy.”

He gave back the Ardath blossom to its owner with reverent care,—­ and when Alwyn had as reverently put it by, he resumed: 

“Your friend Villiers has offered you a perfectly logical and common-sense solution of the mystery of Ardath,—­one which, if you chose to accept it, would drive you back into skepticism as easily as a strong wind blows a straw.  Only see how simple the intricate problem is unravelled by this means!  You, a man of ardent and imaginative temperament, made more or less unhappy by the doctrines of materialism, come to me, Heliobas, a Chaldean student of the Higher Philosophies, an individual whose supposed mysterious power and inexplicably studious way of life entitle him to be considered by the world at large an imposter!—­Now don’t look so indignant!”—­and he laughed,—­“I am merely discussing the question from the point of view that would be sure to be adopted by ‘wise’ modern society!  Thus—­I, Heliobas, the impostor, take advantage of your state of mind to throw you into a trance, in which, by occult means, you see the vision of an Angel, who bids you meet her at a place called Ardath,—­and you, also, in your hypnotized condition, write a poem which you entitle ‘Nourhalma.’  Then I,—­always playing my own little underhand game!—­read you portions of ‘Esdras,’ and prove to you that ‘Ardath’ exists, while I delicately suggest, if I do not absolutely command, your going thither.  You go,—­but I, still by magnetic power, retain my influence over you.  You visit Elzear, a hermit, whom we will, for the sake of the present argument, call my accomplice,—­he reads between the lines of the letter you deliver to him from me, and he understands its secret import.  He continues, no matter how, your delusion.  You