ng out his hand to his friend.
"Love is the divine solvent. Love is the splendour of God."

Mrs. Gotfry paused at the last words. She was startled by this image.
Love, the splendour of God? Why, the Bab, the Buha, is the splendour
of God. Buha mean splendour. The Buha, therefore, is love. Love is the
new religion. It is the old religion, the eternal religion, the only
religion. How came he by this, this young Syrian? Would he rival the
Buha? Rise above him? They are of kindred races--their ancestors,
too, may be mine. Love the splendour of God--God the splendour of
Love. Have I been all along fooling myself? Did I not know my own
heart?

These, and more such, passed through Mrs. Gotfry's mind, as shuttles
through a loom, while Khalid was helping her up to her seat on the
boulder, which is washed by the murmuring current.

"If life were such a rock under our feet," said he, pressing his lips
upon her hand, "the divine currents around it will melt it, soon or
late, into love."

They light cigarettes. A fresh breeze is blowing from the city. It is
following them with the perfume of its gardens. The falling leaves are
whispering in the grove to the swaying boughs. The narcissus is
nodding to the myrtle across the way. And the bulbuls are pouring
their golden splendour of song. Khalid speaks.

"Beauty either detains, repels, or enchants. The first is purely
external, linear; the second is an imitation of the first, its
artistic artificial ideal, so to speak; and the third"--He is silent.
His eyes, gazing into hers, take up the cue.

Mrs. Gotfry turns from him exhausted. She looks into the water.

"See the rose-beds in the stream; see the lovely pebbles dancing
around them."

"I can see everything in your eyes, which are like limpid lakes shaded
with weeping-willows. I can even hear bulbuls singing in your
brows.--Turn not from me your eyes. They reflect the pearls of your
soul and the flowers of your body, even as those crystal waters
reflect the pebbles and rose-beds beneath."

"Did you not say that love is the splendour of God?"

"Yes."

"Then, why look for it in my eyes?"

"And why look for it in the heart of the heavens, in the depths of
the sea--in the infinities of everything that is beautiful and
terrible--in the breath of that little flower, in the song of the
bulbul, in the whispers of your silken lashes, in--"

"Shut your eyes, Khalid; be more spiritual."

"With my eyes open I see but one face; w