im you
still!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE DREAM INTERPRETED.

For some days no one in the hotel saw the Princess Zairoff. But her
influence seemed to have left a distinct impression, judging from the
run on Buddhist literature at the different circulating libraries of the
town. The "Occult World", "Isis Unveiled," and "Esoteric Buddhism" were
in great demand; so were various works on Mesmerism, Clairvoyance, and
Occult Science.

The poet plunged into "Zanoni," which he had read in the days of his
boyhood as one reads a fairy-tale, and he and Mrs Ray Jefferson, being
the greatest enthusiasts, held long and learned and quite unintelligible
discussions over these mysterious subjects, with a view to being able to
hold their own with the beautiful proselytiser when she should deign to
come amongst them all once more.

The weather had changed, and kept the invalids indoors, so there was
plenty of time for "serious reading," as Mrs Jefferson called it.

They took to calling the Princess "the Eastern mystery," and were quite
certain that she must be gifted with abnormal powers. Mrs Jefferson
related the story of her appearance in the doorway, her belief in it
having long since been substantiated by Colonel Estcourt's reluctant
admission that the Princess was certainly attired in a white silk gown,
bordered and trimmed with white fur, when he went up to her rooms that
evening.

Mrs Masterman alone held out, and scoffed audibly at the mystic
literature, and what she called the "insane jabber" that went on in the
drawing-room every evening.

"Psychic phenomena, indeed!" the worthy lady would snort. "Don't talk
to me about such rubbish! It's just as bad as the mediums and the slate
writers."

"Dear madam," pleaded the gentle voice of the enamoured poet, "do not, I
pray you, confound these great mysteries with the strain of Human Error
running through their attempted explanation--an explanation only
intended to bring them down to the level of our material understandings.
Let me persuade you to read that most exquisite poem `The Light of
Asia.'"

"Light of your grandmother!" exclaimed Mrs Masterman with sublime
contempt.

"I fear," lamented the poet, "it never was granted to her. She lived in
a benighted age. She had not our privileges."

"And a very good thing too," said the purple-visaged dowager wrathfully.
"Privileges indeed! Fine privileges, if honest, sober-minded
Christians are to learn the way to He