Shine on our gardens and fields,
                      Shine on our working and weaving;
Shine on the whole race of man,
                             Believing and unbelieving;
                     Shine on us now through the night,
                          Shine on us now in Thy might,
The flame of our holy love
                 and the song of our worship receiving.

The fire rose with the chant, throbbing as if it were made of musical flame, until it cast a bright illumination through the whole apartment, revealing its simplicity and splendor.

The floor was laid with tiles of dark blue veined with white; pilasters of twisted silver stood out against the blue walls; the clearstory of round-arched windows above them was hung with azure silk; the vaulted ceiling was a pavement of sapphires, like the body of heaven in its clearness, sown with silver stars.  From the four corners of the roof hung four golden magic-wheels, called the tongues of the gods.  At the eastern end, behind the altar, there were two dark-red pillars of porphyry; above them a lintel of the same stone, on which was carved the figure of a winged archer, with his arrow set to the string and his bow drawn.

The doorway between the pillars, which opened upon the terrace of the roof, was covered with a heavy curtain of the color of a ripe pomegranate, embroidered with innumerable golden rays shooting upward from the floor.  In effect the room was like a quiet, starry night, all azure and silver, flushed in the east with rosy promise of the dawn.  It was, as the house of a man should be, an expression of the character and spirit of the master.

He turned to his friends when the song was ended, and invited them to be seated on the divan at the western end of the room.

“You have come to-night,” said he, looking around the circle, “at my call, as the faithful scholars of Zoroaster, to renew your worship and rekindle your faith in the God of Purity, even as this fire has been rekindled on the altar.  We worship not the fire, but Him of whom it is the chosen symbol, because it is the purest of all created things.  It speaks to us of one who is Light and Truth.  Is it not so, my father?”

“It is well said, my son,” answered the venerable Abgarus.  “The enlightened are never idolaters.  They lift the veil of the form and go in to the shrine of the reality, and new light and truth are coming to them continually through the old symbols.”

“Hear me, then, my father and my friends,” said Artaban, very quietly, “while I tell you of the new light and truth that have come to me through the most ancient of all signs.  We have searched the secrets of nature together, and studied the healing virtues of water and fire and the plants.  We have read also the books of prophecy in which the future is dimly foretold in words that are hard to understand.  But the highest of all learning is the knowledge of