is Nature’s child, and he who can find that spirit, and let it breathe upon him, shall live with her life.  He shall not live eternally, for Nature is not eternal, and she herself must die, even as the nature of the moon hath died.  She herself must die, I say, or rather change and sleep till it be time for her to live again.  But when shall she die?  Not yet, I ween, and while she lives, so shall he who hath all her secret live with her.  All I have it not, yet have I some, more perchance than any who were before me.  Now, to thee I doubt not that this thing is a great mystery, therefore I will not overcome thee with it now.  Another time I will tell thee more if the mood be on me, though perchance I shall never speak thereof again.  Dost thou wonder how I knew that ye were coming to this land, and so saved your heads from the hot-pot?”

“Ay, oh Queen,” I answered feebly.

“Then gaze upon that water,” and she pointed to the font-like vessel, and then, bending forward, held her hand over it.

I rose and gazed, and instantly the water darkened.  Then it cleared, and I saw as distinctly as I ever saw anything in my life—­I saw, I say, our boat upon that horrible canal.  There was Leo lying at the bottom asleep in it, with a coat thrown over him to keep off the mosquitoes, in such a fashion as to hide his face, and myself, Job, and Mahomed towing on the bank.

I started back, aghast, and cried out that it was magic, for I recognised the whole scene—­it was one which had actually occurred.

“Nay, nay; oh Holly,” she answered, “it is no magic, that is a fiction of ignorance.  There is no such thing as magic, though there is such a thing as a knowledge of the secrets of Nature.  That water is my glass; in it I see what passes if I will to summon up the pictures, which is not often.  Therein I can show thee what thou wilt of the past, if it be anything that hath to do with this country and with what I have known, or anything that thou, the gazer, hast known.  Think of a face if thou wilt, and it shall be reflected from thy mind upon the water.  I know not all the secret yet—­I can read nothing in the future.  But it is an old secret; I did not find it.  In Arabia and in Egypt the sorcerers knew it centuries gone.  So one day I chanced to bethink me of that old canal—­some twenty ages since I sailed upon it, and I was minded to look thereon again.  So I looked, and there I saw the boat and three men walking, and one, whose face I could not see, but a youth of noble form, sleeping in the boat, and so I sent and saved ye.  And now farewell.  But stay, tell me of this youth—­the Lion, as the old man calls him.  I would look upon him, but he is sick, thou sayest—­sick with the fever, and also wounded in the fray.”

“He is very sick,” I answered sadly; “canst thou do nothing for him, oh Queen! who knowest so much?”

“Of a surety I can.  I can cure him; but why speakest thou so sadly?  Dost thou love the youth?  Is he perchance thy son?”