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Updated: June 23, 2025
The Tenor tried to stop this last performance, but he only made matters worse, for the Boy argued the question out in Angelica's voice, taking the part of "dear Claude" he still insisted that his name was Claude and ending with: "Dear Israfil, we are so happy ourselves, I think Claude should have a little latitude to-night. He studies so hard, poor boy, he deserves some indulgence."
"You were playing with me, cheating me, mocking me all the time." Angelica looked at him in dismay. "Israfil! Israfil?" she pleaded, springing to her feet and clasping his arm with both hands, her better nature thoroughly aroused, "O Israfil! forgive me!" She almost shook him in her vehemence, then flung him from her, and pressed her hands to her eyes for an instant. "Mocking you?
It was his accustomed attitude in moments of abstraction, and the Boy let him alone for a little, watching him quietly. Then he grew impatient, and broke the silence: "Is it true, Israfil?" he asked. "Is what true?" lowering his eyes to look at him without changing his position. "Is it true that you are the son of an actress and a duke?"
And when man perishes and the angel Al Sijil, the recorder, rolls up his scroll, what is written therein is written; and Israfil shall call men to judgment, and the scrolls shall be unfolded, and he that has taken of others and not given in return, but has ungratefully forgotten and put away the remembrance of the kindness received, shall be counted among the unbelievers and the extortioners and the unjust, and shall broil in raging flames.
Angelica awoke unrefreshed after a few hours of light and restless sleep, much broken by dreams. "Dead! dead!" was the first thought in her mind, but it came unaccompanied by any feeling. "Is Israfil really dead buried gone from us all forever?" she asked herself in a kind of wonder.
It was a lovely night, all pervaded by the fragrance of the flowers in the gardens round about the Close. They sauntered out, turning to the left from the Tenor's cottage, the cathedral being on their right, the cloisters in front. The Boy walked up to the latter and peeped in, "Come here, dear Israfil," he said obligingly, "and I will show you the beauties of the place.
"I am afraid you are precocious, Boy," he said at last. "Don't be so if you can help it. The thing is detestable." "I really think I shall be obliged to avoid you, Israfil," the Boy rejoined. "If I let you be intimate, you will be giving me good advice. Look there!" The Tenor turned hastily. But there was nothing wrong.
"Oh, my dear Israfil!" the Boy replied. "Why on earth do you ask who told me? You must know by this time, and if you don't you should, that genius does not require to be told. Given the man and the circumstances, and we'll tell you exactly what he'll do, don't you know," and the Boy showed his teeth. But the Tenor was not convinced.
Sunsets, solar coronas, star spectra, auroras such as were never seen on sea or land; rainbows, bubbles, rippling water; flaming volcanoes, lava streams of living light these and a hundred other enthralling and perfectly realizable effects suggest themselves. What Israfil of the future will pour on mortals this new "music of the spheres"? Due tribute has been paid to Mr.
She would have been waiting now till the house was quiet, and then she would have dashed up to her room to dress, with that exquisite sense of freedom which made the whole delight of the thing, and in half an hour she might have been the Boy with Israfil. "You cannot go on like this, you know," Angelica repeated to herself. "You must do something." But what?
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