a step.

"I think I could believe--" she murmured. "I think I could
believe--anything, if I might learn it from you." She paused
pleadingly; then, as he still stood unresponsive, the color rushed again
into her face.

"I--I have been presumptuous," she said. "I have offended you."

Something in her tone, in her charming unaffected humility stung him.
For the first time in his career as Prophet, the blood surged hotly and
painfully into his face.

"Do not say that!" he began, impulsively; then he checked himself. "I am
here to teach my People," he added. "All my People--without exception."

For one moment she studied his face half doubtfully; then at last her
own emotions conquered her doubt.

"Then I may come again?"

He did not reply at once; and when at last his words did come, his voice
was unusually irresolute and low.

"You may come--at any time," he said, without meeting her eyes.

CHAPTER VI

So it came about that the serpent of misgiving entered into the
Prophet's paradise. With Enid Witcherley's words, the realization of his
true position had been unpleasantly suggested to him, and the grain of
doubt had been scattered over the banquet he had set himself to enjoy.
It was one thing to fool men who yearned to be fooled--even to fool
women whose peculiarities set them apart from their sex; but it was
indisputably another matter to dupe a young and confiding girl, who came
with all the fascination of modern doubt, counterbalanced by the charm
of feminine credulity.

Long after she left him, he had paced up and down the room in perplexity
of spirit, until at last, with a sudden contempt for his own weakness,
he had turned to where the white binding of the Scitsym caught the
subdued light. The sight of the book had nerved him, as it never failed
to do; but for all his regained firmness, the sense of uneasy shame had
remained with him during the day; and that night, when he addressed his
people, he had instinctively guarded his glance from resting on the
seats that fronted the Sanctuary.

But now that first interview was past by three weeks, and Enid's daily
visits to the great room where he gave audience to the congregation had
become one of the recognized events of the twenty-four hours. The sense
of shame returned periodically; but on each renewal of the feeling he
salved his conscience more and more successfully with the assurance that
to her, as to himself, the Mystics were in reality nothi