And he opened the door of his study for me to pass out.  As I did so, he laid his hand lightly on my head in a sort of unspoken benediction—­then he closed his door, and I found myself alone in the great hall.  A suspended lamp was burning brightly, and the fountain was gurgling melodiously to itself in a subdued manner, as if it were learning a new song for the morning.  I sped across the mosaic pavement with a light eager step, and hurried up the stairs, intent on finding Zara to tell her how happy I felt, and how satisfied I was with my wonderful experience.  I reached the door of her bedroom—­it was ajar.  I softly pushed it farther open, and looked in.  A small but exquisitely modelled statue of an “Eros” ornamented one corner.  His uplifted torch served as a light which glimmered faintly through a rose-coloured glass, and shed a tender lustre over the room; but especially upon the bed, ornamented with rich Oriental needlework, where Zara lay fast asleep.  How beautiful she looked!  Almost as lovely as any one of the radiant spirits I had met in my aerial journey!  Her rich dark hair was scattered loosely on the white pillows; her long silky lashes curled softly on the delicately tinted cheeks; her lips, tenderly red, like the colour on budding apple-blossoms in early spring, were slightly parted, showing the glimmer of the small white teeth within; her night-dress was slightly undone, and half displayed and half disguised her neck and daintily rounded bosom, on which the electric jewel she always wore glittered brilliantly as it rose and sank with her regular and quiet breathing.  One fair hand lay outside the coverlet, and the reflection from the lamp of the “Eros” flickered on a ring which adorned it, making its central diamond flash like a wandering star.

I looked long and tenderly on this perfect ideal of a “Sleeping Beauty,” and then thought I would draw closer and see if I could kiss her without awaking her.  I advanced a few steps into the room—­ when suddenly I was stopped.  Within about a yard’s distance from the bed a something opposed my approach!  I could not move a foot forward—­I tried vigorously, but in vain!  I could step backward, and that was all.  Between me and Zara there seemed to be an invisible barrier, strong, and absolutely impregnable.  There was nothing to be seen—­nothing but the softly-shaded room—­the ever-smiling “Eros,” and the exquisite reposeful figure of my sleeping friend.  Two steps, and I could have touched her; but those two steps I was forcibly prevented from making—­as forcibly as though a deep ocean had rolled between her and me.  I did not stop long to consider this strange occurrence—­I felt sure it had something to do with her spiritual life and sympathy, therefore it neither alarmed nor perplexed me.  Kissing my hand tenderly towards my darling, who lay so close to me, and who was yet so jealously and invisibly guarded during her slumbers, I softly and reverently withdrew.  On reaching