hose irregular corners
were proof enough that it had been originally another of those huge
blow-holes in volcanic stone; the roof, too, had been left rough, but
the greater part of the side-walls had been finished off smooth with the
chisel, and hand-rubbed.

There was a big, rectangular rock exactly in the middle of the room,
shaped like a table or an altar, and polished until it shone. I decided
to sit down on it--whereat the Mahatma ceased to ignore me.

"Fool!" he barked. "Keep off that!"

I tore a piece off the rag I was wearing for a loin-cloth and tossed it
on the polished surface of the stone. It vanished instantly and left no
trace; it did not even leave a mark on the stone, and the burning was so
swift and complete that there was no smell.

"Thanks!" I said. "But why your sudden anxiety on my account?"

He turned to King again.

"You have seen the _camera obscura_ that shows in darkness the scenery
near at hand, provided the sun is shining? The _camera obscura_ is a
feeble imitation of the true idea. There are no limits to the vision of
him who understands true science. What city do you wish to see?"

"Benares," King answered.

Suddenly we were in darkness. Equally suddenly the whole top surface of
the stone table became bathed in light of a different quality--light
like daylight, that perhaps came upward from the stone, but if so came
only a little way. To me it looked much more as if it began suddenly in
mid-air and descended toward the surface of the stone.

And there all at once, as clearly as if we saw it on the focusing screen
of a gigantic camera, lay Benares spread before us, with all its color,
its sacred cattle in the streets, its crowds bathing in the Ganges,
temples, domes, trees, movement--almost the smell of Benares was there,
for the suggestion was all-inclusive.

"But why is it daylight in Benares while it's somewhere near midnight
here?" King demanded.

That instant the sunshine in Benares ceased and the moon and stars came
out. The glow of lamps shone forth from the temple courtyards, and down
by the river ghats were the lurid crimson flame and smoke where they
cremated dead Hindus. It was far more perfect than a motion picture.
Allowing for scale it looked actually real.

Suddenly the chamber was all suffused in golden light once more and the
picture on the granite table vanished.

"Name another city," said the Gray Mahatma.

"London," King answered.

The light went out, a