Onrai had also stopped and seemed to be listening, but had offered no explanation until they again started for the villa. Our friends seemed to think he could explain this distant music if he wished to, and they looked at him inquiringly. Noticing this look, Onrai said:
“In two months comes the Day of Resis. It is our custom during the two months previous to this day to sing songs of praise at this hour each evening.”
“Are they songs of joy and happiness?” asked Mr. Bruce.
“They are,” said Onrai. But he would say nothing further on the subject.
CHAPTER XII.
THE NIGHT OF PRAYER.
As the night came on and the glorious moon rose high into the heavens, bathing all in its silvery rays, the very beauty of the scene made our friends forget the horrors of the night before. They had assembled in the garden, and the swinging chairs, as they were moved slowly backward and forward by the attendants, were conducive to rest and comfort. They were far enough removed from the lake to be entirely free from any suggestions which its busy scenes might make.
Near Enola stood the great white elephant, which she rode on all journeys, its huge body towering into the air and nearly touching the lower boughs of the trees. This elephant had become so attached to Enola that it seemed happy only when with her, and she had requested of Onrai that he allow “Gip,” as she had named it, to come into the garden while they were there. He had now taken hold of the rope with his trunk and was swinging the chair as carefully as could be done by the attendants. Occasionally he would let out that peculiar cry so much like an infant’s, when Enola would hand him one of the sweets which she always had about her when he was near.
Several of the zebras were also grazing in the garden and the deer, which were numerous, would come up now and then, and with their great liquid eyes, gaze into the faces of our friends. There was no timidity in these animals, for they were all treated so kindly, and had so long been made pets of, that all fear of the human form had left them.
The lofty trees, the flower-bedecked garden with the animals wandering through it, the perfumed air, the pink onyx villa in the background, the silk-robed party swinging lazily to and fro, the attendants standing near, and above all, the glorious moon, made an enchanting scene. Suddenly, as if in a dream, too faint almost to be heard, was wafted on the evening breeze a strain as sweet and indistinct as the low melody of an Æolian harp. Onrai half rose and as the music grew stronger he became erect, and bowing his head, almost whispered, “’Tis the night of prayer.”
The attendants discontinued the swinging of the chairs and also bowed their heads. Our friends, half aroused from the sweet languor into which they had fallen, looked with wondering eyes at Onrai. The exquisite music was coming nearer and nearer, and now could be discerned harmonious voices mingling with the strains of the harp. On and on they came, the music growing louder and stronger, but losing none of its sweetness. Onrai and the attendants still stood with bowed heads, and in a subdued voice, Onrai was evidently repeating a prayer. So impressive was the beautiful music and the devout attitude of those about them, our friends were deeply moved, and had now also arisen and were standing with bent heads and clasped hands, breathing a prayer.