because I tarried to show mercy."



III

There was a silence in the Hall of Dreams, where I was
listening to the story of the Other Wise Man. Through this
silence I saw, but very dimly, his figure passing over the
dreary undulations of the desert, high upon the back of his
camel, rocking steadily onward like a ship over the waves.

The land of death spread its cruel net around him. The
stony waste bore no fruit but briers and thorns. The dark
ledges of rock thrust themselves above the surface here and
there, like the bones of perished monsters. Arid and
inhospitable mountain-ranges rose before him, furrowed with dry
channels of ancient torrents, white and ghastly as scars on the
face of nature. Shifting hills of treacherous sand were heaped
like tombs along the horizon. By day, the fierce heat pressed
its intolerable burden on the quivering air. No living creature
moved on the dumb, swooning earth, but tiny jerboas scuttling
through the parched bushes, or lizards vanishing in the clefts of
the rock. By night the jackals prowled and barked in the
distance, and the lion made the black ravines echo with his
hollow roaring, while a bitter, blighting chill followed the
fever of the day. Through heat and cold, the Magian moved
steadily onward.

Then I saw the gardens and orchards of Damascus, watered