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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
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