Soliloquizing in this fashion, he set his foot on Ardath itself, determining to walk across and around it from end to end. The grass was long and dry, yet it made no rustle beneath his tread ... he seemed to be shod with the magic shoes of silence. He walked on till he reached about the middle of the field, where perceiving a broad flat stone near him, he sat down to rest. There was a light mist rising,--a thin moonlit-colored vapor that crept slowly upward from the ground and remained hovering like a wide, suddenly-spun gossamer web, some two or three inches above it, thus giving a cool, luminous, watery effect to the hot and arid soil.

"According to the Apocrypha, Esdras 'sat among the flowers,'" he idly mused--"Well! ... perhaps there were flowers in those days,-- but it is very evident there are none now. A more dreary, utterly desolate place than this famous 'Ardath' I have never seen!"

At that moment a subtle fragrance scented the still air, ... a fragrance deliciously sweet, as of violets mingled with myrtle. He inhaled the delicate odor, surprised and confounded.

"Flowers after all!" he exclaimed. ... "Or maybe some aromatic herb..." and he bent down to examine the turf at his feet. To his amazement he perceived a thick cluster of white blossoms, star- shaped and glossy-leaved, with deep golden centres, wherein bright drops of dew sparkled like brilliants, and from whence puffs of perfume rose like incense swung at unseen altars! He looked at them in doubt that was almost dread, ... were they real? ... were these the "silver eyes" in which Esdras had seen "signs and wonders"? ... or was he hopelessly brain-sick with delusions, and dreaming again?

He touched them hesitatingly ... they were actual living things, with creamy petals soft as velvet,--he was about to gather one of them,--when all at once his attention was caught and riveted by something like a faint shadow gliding across the plain. A smothered cry escaped his lips, ... he sprang erect and gazed eagerly forward, half in hope,--half in fear. What slight Figure was that, pacing slowly, serenely, and all alone in the moonlight? ... Without another instant's pause he rushed impetuously toward it,--heedless that as he went, he trod on thousands of those strange starry blossoms, which now, with sudden growth, covered and whitened every inch of the ground, thus marvellously fulfilling the words spoken of old: . . "Behold the field thou thoughest barren; how great a glory hath the moon unveiled!"




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