'mad for the sight of his eyes
that he did see.' Such is the sterile and repulsive penalty of the
searcher after happiness. Happiness! O delusive phantom of humanity, how
art thou attainable?"

A thrill pervaded the frame of the visionary as he paused in his
meditations. Subtle as the birth of an emotion--solemn as the presage of
a disaster--terrible as the throes of dissolution, was the pang that
agonised the Rosicrucian. His flesh crept upon his bones at the
consciousness of a preternatural but invisible presence--the presence of
an unseen visitant in the dead of the midnight! His heart quaked as it
drank in, like Eliphaz, "_the veins of_ ITS _whisper_."[8] There was no
sound or reverberation, and yet the language streamed upon the knowledge
of the listener with a distinctness beyond that of human articulation.
The stillness of his solitude was only broken by the rustling of the
night-breeze among the laurustines, and yet in the ears of Cagliostro
there was the utterance as of unsubstantial lips--the sense as of a
divine symphony--"the thunder, and the music, and the pomp" of an
unearthly Voice.[9]

"Balsamo!" it cried, "thy thoughts are blasphemy; thy lamentations are
foolishness; thy mind is darkened by the glooms of a most barren
dejection. Away! vain Sceptic, with the syllogisms of infidelity. The
glory of the immortal WILL evades thy comprehension in the depths of
infinitude. When in its natural brightness, the spiritual being of man
reflects that glory as in a mirror. _Thine_ is blurred by sensuality.
Tranquillity is denied thee, because of the concupiscence of thy
ambition. A profligate and venal career has troubled thy soul with
misgivings. Thou hast scorned even the five senses--those golden portals
of humanity! Know, O dreamer, that in them alone consists the enjoyment
of a finite existence: know that _through the virtuous use of those five
senses, earthly happiness is attainable_! Dost thou still tremble in thy
unbelief? Arise, Balsamo, and behold the teachings of eternity!"

As the last sentence resounded in the heart of Cagliostro, up into the
air floated the Rosicrucian and the Voice.

TIBERIUS.

Time and distance seemed to be conquered in that mysterious ascension,
and an impenetrable darkness enveloped the impostor as he felt himself
carried swiftly through the atmosphere. When he had somewhat recovered,
however, from his astonishment, the motion ceased, and the light of an
Italian evening beam