Now that he mentioned it, certainly I did; indeed, I had felt it all along although amid the rush of sensations this one had scarcely disentangled itself in my mind.  I looked at the draped shape and saw—­well, never mind whom I saw; it was not one only but several in sequence; also a woman who at that time I did not know although I came to know her afterwards, too well, perhaps, or at any rate quite enough to puzzle me.  The odd thing was that in this hallucination the personalities of these individuals seemed to overlap and merge, till at last I began to wonder whether they were not parts of the same entity or being, manifesting itself in sundry shapes, yet springing from one centre, as different coloured rays flow from the same crystal, while the beams from their source of light shift and change.  But the fancy is too metaphysical for my poor powers to express as clearly as I would.  Also no doubt it was but a hallucination that had its origin, perhaps, in the mischievous brain of her who sat before us.

At length she spoke and her voice sounded like silver bells heard over water in a great calm.  It was low and sweet, oh! so sweet that at its first notes for a moment my senses seemed to swoon and my pulse to stop.  It was to me that she addressed herself.

“My servant here,” and ever so slightly she turned her head towards the kneeling Billali, “tells me that you who are named Watcher-in-the-Night, understand the tongue in which I speak to you.  Is it so?”

“I understand Arabic of a kind well enough, having learned it on the East Coast and from Arabs in past years, but not such Arabic as you use, O——­” and I paused.

“Call me Hiya,” she broke in, “which is my title here, meaning, as you know, She, or Woman.  Or if that does not please you, call me Ayesha.  It would rejoice me after so long to hear the name I bore spoken by the lips of one of my colour and of gentle blood.”

I blushed at the compliment so artfully conveyed, and repeated stupidly enough,

“—­Not such Arabic as you use, O—­Ayesha.”

“I thought that you would like the sound of the word better than that of Hiya, though afterwards I will teach you to pronounce it as you should, O—­have you any other name save Watcher-by-Night, which seems also to be a title?”

“Yes,” I answered.  “Allan.”

“—­O—­Allan.  Tell me of these,” she went on quickly, indicating my companions with a sweep of her slender hand, “for they do not speak Arabic, I think.  Or stay, I will tell you of them and you shall say if I do so rightly.  This one,” and she nodded towards Robertson, “is a man bemused.  There comes from him a colour which I see if you cannot, and that colour betokens a desire for revenge, though I think that in his time he has desired other things also, as I remember men always did from the beginning, to their ruin.  Human nature does not change, Allan, and wine and women are ancient snares.  Enough