She was indeed alone, in the centre of the ballroom--with
outstretched arms revolving in an occult, weird, dreamy, mystic,
druidical, cabalistic circle. They now for the first time
perceived the meaning of those strange wands which appeared to be
attached to the many folds of her diaphanous skirts and involved
her in a fleecy, whirling cloud. Yet in the wild convolutions of
her garments and the mad gyrations of her figure, her face was
upturned with the seraphic intensity of a devotee, and her lips
parted as with the impassioned appeal for "Light! more light!" And
the appeal was answered. A flood of blue, crimson, yellow, and
green radiance was alternately poured upon her from the black box
of a mysterious Nubian slave in the gallery. The effect was
marvelous; at one moment she appeared as a martyr in a sheet of
flame, at another as an angel wrapped in white and muffled purity,
and again as a nymph of the cerulean sea, and then suddenly a cloud
of darkness seemed to descend upon her, through which for an
instant her figure, as immaculate and perfect as a marble statue,
showed distinctly--then the light went out and she vanished!

The whole assembly burst into a rapturous cry. Even the common
Arab attendants who were peeping in at the doors raised their
melodious native cry, "Alloe, Fullah! Aloe, Fullah!" again and
again.

A shocked silence followed. Then the voice of Sir Midas Pyle was
heard addressing Dr. Haustus Pilgrim:

"May we not presume, sir, that what we have just seen is not unlike
that remarkable exhibition when I was pained to meet you one
evening at the Alhambra?"