The puzzled girl caught her breath, half sighing, unable to shake off the belief that at some remote period she had gone through precisely the same experience that was now presented to her. And, doubly strange, in connection with the scene, though she could see no reason for it, her thoughts flew instantly to Linton Herrick. She became oppressed, almost suffocated, with a sense as of pre-existence—a bewildering sensation, almost a revelation—that seemed to tell of the mystery of the ego, of the indestructibility of human life.
It was the last time that Nicholas Jardine looked down upon the old city, by night or by day. The next day he remained in bed, and the day after, and all the days that were left to him. The afternoon sunshine came upon the walls, the shadows followed, night succeeded day. The demarcations of time became blurred. His calendar was growing shorter and shorter. The world mattered less and less to him, who had played a leading part in it; and already he mattered nothing to the world. Death was not close at hand. Nevertheless he was dying.
"For this losing is true dying:
This is lordly man's down-lying:
This his slow but sure reclining,
Star by star his world resigning."
ZENOBIA'S DREAM.
The night which followed her heartsearching experience of feeling on looking down upon the sleeping city of Bath, Zenobia had a dream. It was a vision of extraordinary vividness, and strangely circumstantial.
Beneath her eyes the golden light of a summer sunset was flooding the temples, the baths, the stately villas of ancient "Rome in England"—the city of Sulcastra. Garbed as a Priestess of the Temple, she stood upon a plateau, high on the Hill of Sul on the east side of the valley. Behind her rose the Temple of the Goddess, and by her side stood one whom she knew to be the sculptor Lucius Flaccus, son of that centurion who was charged to carry Paul from Adramythium to Rome. He had been telling her in graphic phrases of his association with the great Apostle; how for the first time he had heard him on Mars' Hill at Athens boldly rebuking the listening and resentful throng who had erected there an altar to the unknown God. Then with a gesture of repugnance which horrified the priestess, the narrator, quoting the Christian preacher's words, had turned and pointed towards the Temple in which she with other vestals kept ever burning the sacred fire of Sul.