he saw its picturesque streets, its domes and bell-towers, its courts and gardens.. again he heard the dreamy melody of the dance that had followed the death of Nir-jalis, and saw the cruel Lysia’s wondrous garden lying white in the radiance of the moon; anon he beheld the great Square, with its fallen Obelisk and the prostrate, lifeless form of the Prophet Khosrul.. and..  Oh, most sad and dear remembrance of all! ... the cherished Shadow of Himself, the brilliant, the joyous Sah-luma appeared to beckon him from the other side of some vast gulf of mist and darkness, with a smile that was sorrowful, yet persuasive; a smile that seemed to say—­“O friend, why hast thou left me as though I were a dead thing and unworthy of regard?—­Lo, I have never died, —­I am here, an abandoned part of thee, ready to become thine inseparable comrade once more if thou make but the slightest sign!”—­Then it seemed as though voices whispered in his ear—­“Sah-luma! beloved Sah-luma!”—­and “Theos!  Theos, my beloved!”—­till, moved by a vague tremor of anxiety, he lifted his drooping eyelids and gazed full in a sort of half-incredulous, half-reproachful amaze at the musical necromancer who had conjured up all these apparitions,—­what did this wonderful Sarasate know of his Past?

Nothing, indeed,—­he had ceased, and was gravely bowing to the audience in response to the thunder of applause, that, like a sudden whirlwind, seemed to shake the building.  But he had not quite finished his incantations,—­the last part of the Concerto was yet to come,—­and as soon as the hubbub of excitement had calmed down, he dashed into it with the delicious speed and joy of a lark soaring into the springtide air.  And now on all sides what clear showers and sparkling coruscations of melody!—­what a broad, blue sky above!—­what a fair, green earth below!—­how warm and odorous this radiating space, made resonant with the ring of sweet bird-harmonies!—­wild thrills of ecstasy and lover-like tenderness—­snatches of song caught up from the flower-filled meadows and set to float in echoing liberty through the azure dome of heaven!—­and in all and above all, the light and heat and lustre of the unclouded sun!—­Here there was no dreaming possible, . . nothing but glad life, glad youth, glad love!  With an ambrosial rush of tune, like the lark descending, the dancing bow cast forth the final chord from the violin as though it were a diamond flung from the hand of a king, a flawless jewel of pure sound,—­and the Minstrel monarch of Andalusia, serenely saluting the now wildly enthusiastic audience, left the platform.  But he was not allowed to escape so soon,—­again and again, and yet again, the enormous crowd summoned him before them, for the mere satisfaction of looking at his slight figure, his dark, poetic face, and soft, half-passionate, half-melancholy eyes, as though anxious to convince themselves that he was indeed human, and not a supernatural being, as his marvellous genius seemed to indicate.  When at last he had retired for a breathing-while, Heliobas turned to Alwyn with the question: