“Thou hast done well!” it said—­“Even so always approach Darkness without fear!  Then shalt thou find the Light!  Meet Sorrow with a trusting heart—­so shalt thou discover an angel in disguise!  God thinks no evil of thee—­desires no wrong towards thee—­has no punishment in store for thee—­give Thyself into His Hand, and be at peace!”

Slowly,—­like the colours of the sunset melting away into the grey of twilight, the Vision faded,—­and when I recovered from the dazzled bewilderment into which I had been thrown, I found myself again in complete solitude and darkness—­darkness unrelieved save by the dim light of the setting moon.  I was for a long time unable to think of anything but the strange experience through which I had just passed—­and I wondered what would have happened if instead of boldly advancing and confronting the dark Phantom which had so terrified me I had striven to escape from it?  I believed, and I think I was right in my belief, that I should have found every door open, and every facility offered for a cowardly retreat had I chosen to make it.  And then—­everything would have been at an end!—­I should have probably had to leave the House of Aselzion—­and perhaps I too should have been marked with a black cross as a failure!  Inwardly I rejoiced that so far I had not given way, and presently yielding to a drowsiness that began to steal over me, I undressed and went to bed, perfectly tranquil in mind and happy.

I must have slept several hours when I was awakened suddenly by the sound of voices conversing quite close to me—­in fact, they seemed to be on the other side of the wall against which my bed was placed.  They were men’s voices, and one or two were curiously harsh and irritable in tone.  There was plenty of light in my room—­for the night had passed, and as far as I could tell it seemed to be early morning.  The voices went on, and I found myself compelled to listen.

“Aselzion is the cleverest humbug of his time,”—­said one—­“He is never so happy as when he can play the little god and dupe his worshippers!”

A laugh followed this sentence.

“He’s a marvel in his way,”—­said another—­“He must be a kind of descendant of some ancient Egyptian conjurer who had the trick of playing with fire.  There is nothing in the line of so-called miracle he cannot do,—­and of course those who are ignorant of his methods, and who are credulous themselves—­”

“Like the woman here,”—­interposed the first voice.

“Yes—­like the woman here—­little fool!”—­and there was more laughter—­“Fancying herself in love with Rafel Santoris!”

I sat up in bed, straining my ears now for every word.  My cheeks were burning—­my heart beating—­I hardly knew what to think.  There was a silence for two or three minutes—­minutes that seemed like ages in my longing to hear more.

“Santoris always managed to amuse himself!”—­said a thin, sharp voice with a mocking ring in its tone—­“There was always some woman or other in love with him.  Some woman he could take in easily, of course!”