That shall we know one day.’”
This passage of rhyme sang itself out with a monotonous musical gentleness in his brain,—he closed his eyes restfully,—and then—lying back thus in his chair by the open window, with the moonlight casting a wide halo round him and giving a pale spiritual beauty to his delicate classic features,—he passed away out of his body, as he would have said, and was no more on earth; or rather, as we should say, he fell asleep and dreamed. And the “dream” or the “experience” was this:—
He found himself walking leisurely upon the slopes of a majestic mountain, which seemed not so much mountain as garden, for all the winding paths leading to its summit were fringed with flowers. He heard the silvery plashing of brooks and fountains, and the rustling of thickly-foliaged trees,—he knew the place well, and realised that he was in his “star” again,—the mystic Sphere he called his “home.” But he was evidently an exile or an alien in it,—he had grown to realise this fact and was sorry it should be so, yet his sorrow was mingled with hope, for he felt it would not always be so. He wandered along aimlessly and alone, full of a curiously vague happiness and regret, and as he walked he was passed by crowds of beautiful youths and maidens, who were all pressing forward eagerly as to some high festival or great assembly. They sang blithe songs,—they scattered flowers,—they talked with each other in happy-toned voices,—and he stood aside gazing at them wistfully while they went on rejoicing.
“O land where life never grows old and where love is eternal!” he mused—“Why am I exiled from thy glory? Why have I lost thy joy?”
He sighed;—he longed to know what had brought together so bright a multitude of these lovely and joyous beings,—his own “dear people” as he felt they were; and yet—yet he hesitated to ask one of them the least question, feeling himself unworthy. At last he saw a girl approaching,—she was singing to herself and tying flowers in a garland as she came,—her loose golden hair streamed behind her, every glistening tress seeming to flash light as she moved. As she drew near him she glanced at him kindly and paused as though waiting to be addressed,—seeing this, he mustered up his courage and spoke.
“Whither are you all going?” he asked, with a sad gentleness—“I may not follow you, I know,—but will you tell me why, in this kingdom of joy, so much fresh joy seems added?”
She pointed upwards, and as his eyes obeyed her gesture he saw, in the opal-coloured sky that bent above them, a dazzling blaze of gold and crimson glory towards the south.
“An Angel passes!” she replied—“Below that line of light the Earth swings round in its little orbit, and from the Earth She comes! We go to watch her flight heavenward, and win the benediction that her passing presence gives. For look you!—all that splendour in the sky is not light, but wings!”
“Wings!” echoed Féraz dreamily, yet nothing doubting what she said.
“Wings or rays of glory,—which you will”—said the maiden, turning her own beautiful eyes towards the flashing brilliancy; “They are waiting there,—those who come from the farthest Divine world,—they are the friends of Lilith.”