“Tell me first,—is there anything visible between this my extended arm and you?”
El-Râmi shook his head.
“Nothing.”
Whereupon the monk raised his eyes, and in a low thrilling voice said solemnly—
“O God with whom Thought is Creation and Creation Thought, for one brief moment be pleased to lift material darkness from the sight of this man Thy subject-creature, and by Thy sovereign-power permit him to behold with mortal eyes, in mortal life, Thy deathless Messenger!”
Scarcely had these words been pronounced than El-Râmi was conscious of a blinding flash of fire as though sudden lightning had struck the room from end to end. Confused and dazzled, he instinctively covered his eyes with his hand, then removing it, looked up, stupefied, speechless, and utterly overwhelmed at what he saw. Clear before him stood a wondrous Shape, seemingly human, yet unlike humanity,—a creature apparently composed of radiant colour, from whose transcendent form great shafts of gold and rose and purple spread upward and around in glowing lines of glory. This marvellous Being stood, or rather was poised in a steadfast attitude, between him, El-Râmi, and the monk,—its luminous hands were stretched out on either side as though to keep those twain asunder—its starry eyes expressed an earnest watchfulness—its majestic patience never seemed to tire. A thing of royal stateliness and power, it stayed there immovable, parting with its radiant intangible Presence the two men who gazed upon it, one with fearless, reverent, yet accustomed eyes—the other with a dazzled and bewildered stare. Another moment and El-Râmi at all risks would have spoken,—but that the Shining Figure lifted its light-crowned head and gazed at him. The wondrous look appalled him,—unnerved him,—the straight, pure brilliancy and limpid lustre of those unearthly orbs sent shudders through him,—he gasped for breath—thrust out his hands, and fell on his knees in a blind, unconscious, swooning act of adoration, mingled with a sense of awe and something like despair,—when a dense chill darkness as of death closed over him, and he remembered nothing more.
XXII.
When he came to himself, it was full daylight. His head was resting on some one’s knee,—some one was sprinkling cold water on his face and talking to him in an incoherent mingling of Arabic and English,—who was that some one? Féraz? Yes!—surely it was Féraz! Opening his eyes languidly, he stared about him and attempted to rise.
“What is the matter?” he asked faintly. “What are you doing to me? I am quite well, am I not?”
“Yes, yes!” cried Féraz eagerly, delighted to hear him speak.—“You are well,—it was a swoon that seized you—nothing more! But I was anxious,—I found you here insensible——”