“Where is it?” he asked quickly.
“In a cavern in yonder mountain,” I replied, pointing to the horizon.
“In a cavern?” he cried in surprise. “How have you ascertained that?”
I told him of the success of the catoptromancy, of the picture that my breath had produced upon the mirror, and of the exact reproduction which I had just witnessed.
“But do you think the Crescent has produced this remarkable chimera?” he asked.
“Undoubtedly,” I replied, releasing my head from it at last, and offering it to him, in order to see whether a similar illusion would be revealed. Removing his head-gear, he allowed me to place it upon his brow in the same position as I had assumed it. I held it there several minutes, and asked whether he experienced either pleasure or pain.
“I feel nothing,” he declared at last. Then, with an incredulous smile, he added, “I’m inclined to believe that your remarkable extension of vision is mere imagination. Your nerves are unstrung by thoughts of Zoraida’s peril, in combination with the fatigue of your journey.”
“But I can describe to you yonder mountain minutely,” I said. “The cave is in a high wall of grey granite, and its mouth, once evidently of spacious dimensions, has been rendered small by sand that has drifted up until it has almost choked it. It is semicircular, but seems narrow inside, forming a kind of shallow grotto.”
“And what is the general aspect of the mountain side?”
The picture still remained vividly impressed upon my memory, so I had no difficulty in giving him an accurate description of what I had seen.