hing to hide; there is a
frankness which makes a mask for him who is, below the surface, all
mystery. As Sebastian studied his companion, he told himself that this
simple creature was after all a man, perhaps adapting himself to public
demands as any clever fellow would; and, as this thought occurred to
him, Mr. Early's benevolence increased.

"You ought to write a book," he said with the air of one projecting a
novel thought. "With your gift for expression, and your--ah--insight
into realities, you couldn't fail to make a success of it."

"It is my intention," said the Hindu.

Mr. Early looked a little taken aback, but brightened again with a new
suggestion.

"Why not do it here?" he asked. "Come, where could you find a more
fitting place? You have your rooms in a wing of the house all to
yourself. That gives you perfect solitude. I should be delighted to have
you for my guest while you do your work; and when you finish, I know
enough of the tricks of the trade to help you push it a bit."

"Of a certainty truth is self-vigorous, and needs no tricks to keep it
living."

"Ah, yes," the man of business answered cheerfully. "But one may boost
it,--one may boost it, my dear fellow."

The Swami bent his great head and appeared to meditate. When he looked
up, his spiritual eyes were narrowed to a speculative slit, and he
studied the face on the other side of the comfortable log fire.

"My friend, you are generous. You offer me a home, and I am fain to
accept it, if I may put the offer in another form. For the present I
must return to India. Too long already have I been away from the
atmosphere which is to me life. I must see some of the brothers of my
soul. I must saturate myself with repose and with the underlying--with
Karma. Also, in this too-vigorous country, that is unattainable. But
here, in this place, one who is filled with the message might give it
forth to his brothers--or perhaps to the sisters, who appear the more
anxious for it. Here the very energy of the air says 'give' rather than
'grow'. If I might a year--six months hence--accept your hospitality?"
He looked tentatively at Mr. Early.

"My home is yours. Do what you like with it," said Mr. Early benignly.
He was thinking how well a picturesque cut of the Hindu's head would
look on the covers of _The Aspirant_, combined with a judicious puff
within.

The Swami smiled serenely.

"I observe," he went on in his delicate voice, "that the wing on the