It was a delightful night after a
sultry day, and the balmy air of the garden was peculiarly reviving.
The old man was seated on a fragment of a pedestal, looking like a
part of the ruin on which he sat. He was edifying his pupil by long
lessons of wisdom from the stars, as they shone out with brilliant
lustre in the dark-blue vault of a southern sky; for he was deeply
versed in Behmen, and other of the Rosicrucians, and talked much of
the signature of earthly things and passing events, which may be
discerned in the heavens; of the power of the stars over corporeal
beings, and their influence on the fortunes of the sons of men.
By degrees the moon rose and shed her gleaming light among the groves.
Antonio apparently listened with fixed attention to the sage, but his
ear was drinking in the melody of Inez's voice, who was singing to her
lute in one of the moonlight glades of the garden. The old man, having
exhausted his theme, sat gazing in silent reverie at the heavens.
Antonio could not resist an inclination to steal a look at this coy
beauty, who was thus playing the part of the nightingale, so
sequestered and musical. Leaving the alchymist in his celestial
reverie, he stole gently along one of the alleys.
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