Through the clear eye before his eyes he saw his cousin's face--all glorified--splendid utterly ...
That something which came to him ever with the sight of beauty, filled him with joy ...
But stay! the bosses must be magnifying glasses also! He could read something.
What was it?
Ishk (love)? or Ashk (tears)?
"Thou wilt see more clearly when thou hast learnt to use the five eyes of the soul," came his cousin's voice; "then thine own thoughts will return to thee from the Mirror-of-Life. Now put it into the bosom of thy fur coat. There is room there for it and majesty likewise. And now I will sing the Song-of-the-Bowl ere thou goest."
He clapped his hands once more, and the boy sighed and rubbed his eyes dreamily. Surely the seven lamps had been lit? But now they were not; the semi-darkness of the scent-sodden tent closed in on him, and that was his cousin's every-day voice:
"Bring me my dulcimer, slave! Lo! King-ling, it suits the measure better than the cithâra and I am proud of the tune! 'Tis my own."
So, after a while, the tinkling notes began, the voice rose plaintively:
