“Many,” he continued, “have been the self-ordained guides of the human conscience, blind leaders of the blind, would-be saviours of the world!  Why should a mazed wandering soul be so eager to summon followers, so ready to point the way?  What strange prompting of love or daring is here?  It surely is not from desire of applause that men seek the leadership on the road to heaven, for what man so decried in the history of the world as he who arrogates to himself the place and name of Priest?  And yet priest and poet are akin.  The man who seeks the place of mediator and interpreter betwixt his fellows and the Unknowable must needs be an idealist, and if he deal with illusion who so unfortunate as he?”

They halted that night where two streams met.  Bathed in moonlight it was a scene of great beauty and repose, a confluence of the beatitudes of earth and air.  Peace filled their souls so that they perceived the unexpressive adoration of the river, and the trees, and the solemn moonlight.  It was such an hour as makes poets of men, and Atma raised his head and spoke: 

     “At tranquil eve is proper time for prayer,
               When winds are fair,
     And gracious shadows ’mong the myrtles move. 
     The list’ning eve it was ordained for prayer.

     By the soft murmur of thy cooing dove
               Teach me to love;
     Grant that thy starry front fill my death’s night
               With joyful light;
     And hushed as on this bank the violet’s close
               Be my repose.

     Abide Love, Happiness, and Peace till shining morn
     From the same birth that gave the past be borne.”

Bertram: 

     “Fair are these hillside haunts at even calm,
     And sweet the fragrance of each flowery spray. 
     Dew of the Spirit, fall in heavenly balm
     Upon my slumbers; bounteous Lord, I pray,
     Like one who sang thy praise in other way,
     Bless Thou the wicked, for the Good, I know,
     Are blessed already, blessed they come and go.”

CHAPTER XIII.

The shrine of the Well of Purity was on a dainty islet which lay in the centre of a small lake.  The grotto was almost concealed from view, but moving forms of worshippers were visible among the trees when Atma and Bertram drew near to the water’s edge.  A band of laughing girls carrying laden baskets of corn, and rice, and flowers were leaving the shore in a light skiff.  It was a lovely scene, the shining lake reflecting again the gem-like mound of foliage which rested on its breast.  Bertram gazed on the picture, whilst Atma, whose quick and expectant eyes had discerned the form of Nama near at hand, followed her unnoticed by his companion.  The Maharanee, Nama related, had sent to Atma Singh the gold which she carried, in token of her approval of her loyal servitor, and also a box of onyx which she