One morning, as they were seated upon a green bank, picking the flowers that blossomed round them, and tossing them away in pure listlessness, Amine took the opportunity, that she had often waited for, to enter upon a subject hitherto unmentioned.
“Philip,” said she, “do you believe in dreams? think you that we may have supernatural communications by such means?”
“Of course we may,” replied Philip; “we have proof abundant of it in the holy writings.”
“Why, then, do you not satisfy your scruples by a dream?”
“My dearest Amine, dreams come unbidden; we cannot command or prevent them.”
“We can command them, Philip: say that you would dream upon the subject nearest to your heart, and you shall.”
“I shall?”
“Yes! I have that power, Philip, although I have not spoken of it. I had it from my mother, with much more that of late I have never thought of. You know, Philip, I never say that which is not. I tell you, that, if you choose, you shall dream upon it.”
“And to what good, Amine? If you have power to make me dream, that power must be from somewhere.”
“It is, of course: there are agencies you little think of, which, in my country, are still called into use. I have a charm, Philip, which never fails.”