ld seem that Leo began to
feel its influence also, for he stirred and spoke in his sleep, so low
at first that I could only distinguish the tongue he used, which was
Arabic. Presently I caught a few words.

"Ayesha," he said, "_Ayesha!_"

The figure glided towards him and stopped. He sat up in the bed still
fast asleep, for his eyes were shut. He stretched out his arms, as
though seeking one whom he would embrace, and spoke again in a low and
passionate voice--"Ayesha, through life and death I have sought thee
long. Come to me, my goddess, my desired."

The figure glided yet nearer, and I could see that it was trembling, and
now its arms were extended also.

At the bedside she halted, and Leo laid himself down again. Now the
coverings had fallen back, exposing his breast, where lay the leather
satchel he always wore, that which contained the lock of Ayesha's hair.
He was fast asleep, and the figure seemed to fix its eyes upon this
satchel. Presently it did more, for, with surprising deftness those
white-wrapped fingers opened its clasp, yes, and drew out the long
tress of shining hair. Long and earnestly she gazed at it, then gently
replaced the relic, closed the satchel and for a little while seemed to
weep. While she stood thus the dreaming Leo once more stretched out his
arms and spoke, saying, in the same passion-laden voice--"Come to me, my
darling, my beautiful, my beautiful!"

At those words, with a little muffled scream, like that of a scared
night-bird, the figure turned and flitted through the doorway.

When I was quite certain that she had gone, I gasped aloud.

What might this mean, I wondered, in a very agony of bewilderment. This
could certainly be no dream: it was real, for I was wide awake. Indeed,
what did it all mean? Who was the ghastly, mummy-like thing which had
guided us unharmed through such terrible dangers; the Messenger that all
men feared, who could strike down a brawny savage with a motion of its
hand? Why did it creep into the place thus at dead of night, like a
spirit revisiting one beloved? Why did its presence cause me to awake
and Leo to dream? Why did it draw out the tress; indeed, how knew it
that this tress was hidden there? And why--oh! why, at those tender and
passionate words did it flit away at last like some scared bat?

The priest Oros had called our guide Minister, and Sword, that is, one
who carries out decrees. But what if they were its own decrees? What if
this thin