This was the substance of many talks.  It was always the same when Gobind shut his eyes.

“You say I shall come back here, good Gobind?” Bedient asked.

“Yes, you will come back here to abandon the body——­”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

Bedient was filled with grave questions.  One can always put a mystic meaning to the direct saying of a Hindu holy man, but there seemed no equivocation here.  The young man was slow to believe that all his dreaming must come to naught.  It seemed as if his whole inner life had been built about the dream of a woman; and of late she had seemed nearer than ever, and different from any woman, he had ever known—­the mate of his mind and soul and flesh.  For a long time he progressed no farther than this, for falling into his own thoughts, he would find only the aged body of Gobind before him—­the rest having stolen away on night-marches of deep moment, while he, Bedient, had tried to realize his life loneliness.  At last he could think of nothing else throughout the long day, and he went early in the semi-light and sat before the holy man.  The dusk darkened, and a new moon rose, but Gobind did not rise to mere physical consciousness that night, though Bedient sat very still before him for hours.  The bony knees of the old ascetic, covered with dust, were moveless as the black roots of the camphor-tree; and a dog of the village sat afar off on his haunches and whined at intervals, waiting for the white man to go, that he might have the untouched supper, which a woman of Preshbend had brought to Gobind’s begging-bowl.

And again the next night Bedient came, but Gobind was away playing with the gods of his youth—­just the old withered body there—­and the dog whining.

But the third night, the eyes of Gobind filled with his young friend——­

“You say, good father Gobind,” Bedient said quickly, “that I shall come back here alone to die?”

“Yes,” the Sannyasin answered simply, but a moment later, he shivered, and seemingly divined all that was in the young man’s mind, for he added:  “You will learn to look within for the woman....  You would not find favor—­in finding her without....  It is not for you—­the red desire of love!”

* * * * *

It was during these years in India that Bedient began to put down the thoughts which delighted him during the long rides through the forest; and something of the thrill of his reflections, as he watched old God-Mother from his cliff.  He found great delight in this, and his mind was integrated by expression.  He recalled many little pictures of the early years—­not the actions, but the reflections of action.  It was fascinating.  He found that his journal would bulk big presently, so he took to polishing as he went along; chose the finest, toughest Indian parchment—­and wrote finely as this print—­for it was clear to him that he had entered upon what was to prove a life-habit.