“What am I to do?” she whispered.
“Kneel down there,” said Barbillus, pointing to a cushion close to the curtain. “Pour out your soul unceasingly in prayer, and wait till the all-powerful god shall hear you.”
He was quite himself again—the devoted minister, solemn, reverend and dignified in his sublime loftiness. Cornelia was reassured. Still, as if struck by a sudden idea, she went up to him trembling.
“My lord and master,” she said with some agitation, “I do not know what it can be, that so unexpectedly troubles my soul. Am I indeed worthy to behold the infinite and all-merciful one with these sinful eyes? Is it possible? Is it conceivable?”
“What—do you hesitate?”
“Swear to me by all the immortals, by your own life and your hopes of bliss....”
“Well, my daughter,” said Barbillus, raising his right hand to heaven, “I swear by Isis of the thousand names, by the happiness of my life and the future bliss of my soul; the ruler of the world himself will vouchsafe to appear to you, the mighty lord before whom all grovel in the dust, from the rising to the setting of the sun.”
“Oh! I thank thee!” cried Cornelia in a transport. “Let me kneel, holy Father, and wait in all humility till your words are fulfilled.”
The priest left her. Cornelia sank on to the purple cushions with a sigh, and bowed her head; her long hair fell in a waving stream over her face and down to the ground. She clasped her hands and prayed.
Then she heard once more that wonderful music, that seemed to come out of the ceiling and out of the walls, and yet sounded so distant, so appealing, so dream-like. Suddenly the lamp went out; a terrific peal of thunder shook the air, and the room quivered under her feet.[44] At the same instant an intense and intolerable light, which gradually became milder, filled the room. When Cornelia looked up again, trembling, the curtain in front of her had been drawn back. Not far beyond she saw a magnificent pulvinar,[45] as it was called; a stuffed couch, such as the priests made ready, when they offered the food of the gods to the sacred images of the immortals. Over the head of this couch hung a light cloud, which again flashed into vivid light, then gradually died out, till at last it looked merely like a mist, dim and ghostly. Then an icy breath fanned Cornelia’s burning brow, the mist parted, and the figure of some unknown creature slowly advanced towards the terror-stricken girl—mysteriously, shrouded in some sheeny blue drapery that made the outlines indistinct, like an image in a dream.