an undiscovered peak. Does she not thus lead you through life to that peak which lies beyond the Gates of Death? You dreamed—
Oh! no more of it,
he exclaimed. What I saw, I saw, and that I shall follow. Think as you will, Horace, and do what you will. To-morrow I start for India, with you if you choose to come; if not, without you.
You speak roughly, Leo,
I said. You forget that I have had no sign, and that the nightmare of a man so near to insanity that but a few hours ago he was determined upon suicide, will be a poor staff to lean on when we are perishing in the snows of Central Asia. A mixed vision, this of yours, Leo, with its mountain peak shaped like a crux-ansata and the rest. Do you suggest that Ayesha is re-incarnated in Central Asia—as a female Grand Lama or something of that sort?
I never thought of it, but why not?
asked Leo quietly. Do you remember a certain scene in the Caves of Kôr yonder, when the living looked upon the dead, and dead and living were the same? And do you remember what Ayesha swore, that she would come again—yes, to this world; and how could that be except by re-birth, or, what is the same thing, by the transmigration of the spirit?
I did not answer this argument. I was struggling with myself.
No sign has come to me,
I said, and yet I have had a part in the play, humble enough, I admit, and I believe that I have still a part.
No,
he said, no sign has come to you. I wish that it had. Oh! how I wish you could be convinced as I am, Horace!
Then we were silent for a long while, silent, with our eyes fixed upon the sky.
It was a stormy dawn. Clouds in fantastic masses hung upon the ocean. One of them was like a great mountain,
