El-Râmi heard him with patient interest.
“I do not deny, Féraz,” he said slowly, “that your impressions are very strange——”
“Very strange? Yes!” cried Féraz. “But very true!”
He paused—then on a sudden impulse came close up to his brother, and laid a hand on his shoulder.
“And do you mean to tell me,” he asked, “that you who have studied so much, and have mastered so much, yet receive no such impressions as those I speak of?”
A faint flush coloured El-Râmi’s olive skin.
“Certain impressions come to me at times, of course,” he answered slowly.—“And there have been certain seasons in my life when I have had visions of the impossible. But I have a coldly-tempered organisation, Féraz,—I am able to reason these things away.”
“Oh, you can reason the whole world away if you choose,” said Féraz.—“For it is nothing after all but a pinch of star-dust.”
“If you can reason a thing away it does not exist,” observed El-Râmi drily.—“Reduce the world, as you say, to a pinch of star-dust, still the pinch of star-dust is there—it Exists.”
“Some people doubt even that!” said Féraz, smiling.