It gradually arose out of the waters. He had seen
such visions, such fata morgana, that appeared not unfrequently on
this coast, many a time, and had hitherto smiled at such illusions.
But today he forgot his knowledge and experience, and the illusion
was to him reality. He stretched out his arms, and gazed at the
heavenly picture that had risen out of the waves, and his lips
whispered in longing accents: "Masa, come to me; let the water that
drips from you fall on my burning heart, soothe my anguish; speak to
me of my future, and tell me what you desire me to do. Oh, speak to
me, Masa!"
Enraptured, he still gazed out into the air at the sweet vision that
rose higher and higher out of the waves. At last it stretched out
its arms over him, and a cold breath kissed his lips! After a long
pause, he opened his eyes again. Had he been dreaming? Was it
reality? He lay on the rock alone in the morning light of the sun.
The image had disappeared, and silence surrounded him, profound
silence.
And in this silence Mohammed formed his last, his decisive resolve.
As he lay there, he had entreated Allah to deliver him, by death,
from this tormenting struggle, this doubt. The hour of irresolution
had now passed, and he felt strengthened with renewed life. He
looked up at the heavens; and a hitherto undreamed of world seemed
to lie open before him. He looked out into the purple distance, and
he seemed to be hold the minarets, and temples, and mountains, and
plains of a new land.
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