XXII.
THE PALACE OF DREAMS.
YOU are standing at dead of night before a mighty-gateway. Its vast arch soars upward into the darkness. Its doors are closed against you. Presently the stillness is broken by a shuffling footstep within. A bolt clanks in its socket, and a little wicket gate slowly swings ajar. You enter, and find yourself in a huge demi-vault. The yellow flame of a flickering lantern hardly serves to pierce the gloom. The lofty roof is dim and remote. The light flings gigantic shadows on the walls. Two or three vague sleeping forms lie in the recesses. An air of hushed mystery envelops the place.
You pass, slow and hesitating, through the ultimate portal. In a moment the black night engulfs you again. The air is laden with the scent of trees. Dark umbrageous shapes arise. You are aware of a spacious garden. Far ahead is a glimmering pin-point of light. It is barely visible, but it serves to guide your faltering tread. And it brings a welcome suggestion of human presence in the midst of the uncanny obscurity; for the brooding quiet of the garden is almost oppressive. There is no sound save the echo of your own footsteps, ringing along the silent grove. As you draw near, a single
