hear it
in this place because here he agonized for what he knew too late."

"Was that our only meeting?"

"We meet every night, but you forget when the day brings the sleep of
the soul.--You do not sink deep enough into rest to remember. You float
on the surface where the little bubbles of foolish dream are about you
and I cannot reach you then."

"How can I compel myself to the deeps?"

"You cannot. It will come. But when you have passed up the bridle
way and beyond the Shipki, stop at Gyumur. There is the Monastery of
Tashigong, and there one will meet you--

"His name?"

"Stephen Clifden. He will tell you what you desire to know. Continue on
then with him to Yarkhand. There in the Ninth Vibration we shall meet
again. It is a long journey but you will be content."

"Do you certainly know that we shall meet again?"

"When you have learnt, we can meet when we will. He will teach you
the Laya Yoga. You should not linger here in the woods any longer. You
should go on. In three days it will be possible."

"But how have you learnt--a girl and young?"

"Through a close union with Nature--that is one of the three roads. But
I know little as yet. Now take my hand and come.

"One last question. Is this house ruined and abject as I have seen it in
the daylight, or royal and the house of Gods as we see it now? Which is
truth?"

"In the day you saw it in the empty illusion of blind thought. Tonight,
eternally lovely as in the thought of the man who made it. Nothing that
is beautiful is lost, though in the sight of the unwise it seems to die.
Death is in the eyes we look through--when they are cleansed we see Life
only. Now take my hand and come. Delay no more."

She caught my hand and we entered the dim magnificence of the great
hall. The moon entered with us.

Instantly I had the feeling of supernatural presence. Yet I only write
this in deference to common use, for it was absolutely natural--more so
than any I have met in the state called daily life. It was a thing in
which I had a part, and if this was supernatural so also was I.

Again I saw the Dark One, the Beloved, the young Krishna, above the
women who loved him. He motioned with his hand as we passed, as though
he waved us smiling on our way. Again the dancers moved in a rhythmic
tread to the feet of the mountain Goddess--again we followed to where
she bent to hear. But now, solemn listening faces crowded in the shadows
about her, grave eyes fixed immo