he real Christ and not the fiction of
that supersubtle Greek-Jewish and boastful philosopher in Alexandria!
Make for me, O God, a sign! Give me back in all its purity my faith;
faith, noblest gift of all! Oh! to hear once more the thrilling of the
harps divine, whereon the dawn plays, those precursors of the Eternal
Harmony! _Gloria in Excelsis_." He remained prostrate, his heart no
longer battered by doubts and swimming in blissful love for his
crucified God. The celestial hurricane subsided in his bosom; he arose
and again interrogated the heavens. The stars in the profound splendours
of the sky stared at him like the naked eyes of _houris_. Suddenly a
vast white cloud sailed over the edge of the horizon and as it
approached his habitation assumed the shape of a monstrous dove, its
fleecy wings moving in solemn rhythms. In the resurgence of his hopes
this apparition was the coveted sign from the Almighty.

And flat upon the floor of his cell, his face abased in the dust, Hyzlo
worshipped in epileptic frenzy, crying aloud, after the manner of the
sad-tongued Preacher:--

"The thing that hath been, it _is_ that which shall be!"

XI

THE HAUNTED HARPSICHORD

[In the Style of Mock-Mediaeval Fiction]

I told Michael to look sharply to his horse. It was dusk; a few bits of
torn clouds, unresolved modulations of nebulous lace, trembled over the
pink pit in the west, wherein had sunk the sun; and one evening star,
silver pointed, told the tale of another spent day.

Michael was surly, I was impatient, and the groom, who lagged in the
rear, whistled softly; but I knew that both men were tired and hungry,
and so were the horses. The road, hard and free from dust, echoed the
resilient hoof-falls of our beasts. The early evening was finely cool,
for it was the month of September. We had lost our way. Green fields on
either side, and before us the path declined down a steep slope, that
lost itself in huddled foliage.

Michael spoke up:--

"We are astray. I knew this damnable excursion would lead to no good."

I gently chided him. "Pooh, you braggart! Even Arnold, who rides a brute
a world too wide for him, has not uttered a complaint. Brave Michael, if
her ladyship heard you now!"

His face grew hard as he muttered:--

"Her ladyship! may all the saints in the calendar watch over her
ladyship! But I wish she had never taken you at your hot-headed word.
Then we would not have launched upon this madcap adventur