what had grown to be routine. This last aspirant for spiritual light was
neither fanatical nor hysterical, was scarcely even imbued with fear.
Something within his brain responded to the idea, to the reassuring
human curiosity that gleamed in her eyes. He found himself waiting for
her first words with an impatience that no other member of the
congregation had aroused.

But the wait was long--disconcertingly long. The aspirant glanced
uncertainly about the room, as if unwilling or unable to break into
speech; then at last she raised her head, and, with an effort, met the
Prophet's eyes.

"I'm terribly nervous!" she said, in an irresistibly feminine voice.

The effect upon her hearer was instantaneous. The distant and spiritual
aloofness, so easy to assume in the presence of the credulous, became
suddenly a matter of impossibility. With a quiet dignity that had more
of masculine protectiveness than of mystical inspiration he turned to
her afresh.

"Have no fear!" he answered, gently. "My only desire is to help you.
Tell me everything that is in your mind."

She leaned forward quickly. "You--you are most kind--" she began. Then
again she halted.

But he took no notice of her embarrassment.

"Why have you never come before?" he asked. "Had you no doubts to be set
at rest?" He spoke so quietly that her nervousness forsook her, and with
a swift impulse she glanced up at him.

"I--I think I was afraid," she said, candidly. "You see, I am not
exactly one of the others--"

"You did not quite believe that the One you had waited for had really
come?" His voice was low and tinged with some inscrutable meaning.

"Oh no! No; it was not that. Before you came, I confess I was sceptical;
I confess I did not believe that any one would come, that there was any
truth--any real meaning--in the sect. But then--when you did come--"

The Prophet lifted his head.

"When I did come?" he asked, sharply.

"The whole thing was different--"

"The whole thing was different?" he repeated, slowly and meditatively.
By a curious process of suggestion and recollection, something of his
own experiences in the realm of mental upheaval rose with her words. He
studied the pale face and brilliant eyes with a fresh and more intimate
interest.

"The whole thing was different?" he said once more, in his slow, deep
voice.

The warm color flooded her face. "Yes," she admitted. "Yes. You seemed
the one real person--the one sane thing in the wh