“No one has ever helped me, least of all in the way you mean,” he said. “The counsels of wise men--of the wisest--have been useless, as well as the dreams of women who fancy they have the gift of mental sight beyond the limit of bodily vision.”
“Who fancy they see!” exclaimed Unorna, almost glad to find that she was still strong enough to feel annoyance at the slight.
“I beg your pardon. I do not mean to doubt your powers, of which I have had no experience.”
“I did not offer to see for you. I did not offer you a dream.”
“Would you show me that which I already see, waking and sleeping? Would you bring to my hearing the sound of a voice which I can hear even now? I need no help for that.”
“And why for me?” he asked with some curiosity.
“Because--because you are Keyork Arabian’s friend.” She glanced at his face, but he showed no surprise.
“You have seen him this afternoon, of course,” he remarked.
“Yes. I have seen him this afternoon. He is a friend of mine, and of yours--do you understand?”
“He is the wisest of men,” said the Wanderer. “And also the maddest,” he added thoughtfully.
“And you think it was in his madness, rather than in his wisdom, that he advised you to come to me?”
“Possibly. In his belief in you, at least.”
“And that may be madness?” She was gaining courage.
“Or wisdom--if I am mad. He believes in you. That is certain.”
“He has no beliefs. Have you known him long, and do not know that? With him there is nothing between knowledge and ignorance.”
“And he knows, of course, by experience what you can do and what you cannot do?”
“By very long experience, as I know him.”
“Neither your gifts nor his knowledge of them can change dreams to facts.”
“You can produce a dream--nothing more,” continued the Wanderer, drawn at last into argument. “I, too, know something of these things. The wisdom of the Egyptians is not wholly lost yet. You may possess some of it, as well as the undeveloped power which could put all their magic within your reach if you knew how to use it. Yet a dream is a dream.”
“Philosophers have disputed that,” answered Unorna. “I am no philosopher, but I can overthrow the results of all their disputations.”
“You can do this. If I resign my will into your keeping you can cause me to dream. You can call up vividly before me the remembered and unremembered sights of my life. You can make me see clearly the sights impressed upon your own memory. You might do that, and yet you could be showing me nothing which I do not see now before me--of those things which I care to see.”