No tourists were there.  He sent the donkey-boy away, saying he would walk back to the river.  He knew the consciousness that some one was waiting for him to go would take the edge off his pleasure.  And he realized at once that he was on the threshold of one of the most intense pleasures of his life.  Allured by a gift of money, the native guardian consented to desert him instead of dogging his steps.  For the first time he stood in an Egyptian temple.

He remained for some time in the outer court, where the golden sunshine fell, attracted by the sacred darkness that seemed silently to be calling him, but pausing to savour his pleasure.  Before him was a vista of empty golden hours.  What need had he to hurry?  Slowly he approached the hypostyle hall.  All about him in the sunshine swarms of birds flew.  Their vivacious chirping fell upon ears that were almost deaf.  For already the great silence of the darkness beyond was flowing out to Isaacson, was encompassing him about.  He reached the threshold and looked back.  Through the high and narrow doorway between the towers he caught a glimpse of the native village, and his eyes rested for a moment upon the cupolas of a mosque.  Behind him was a place of prayer.  Before him was another place, which surely held in its arms of stone all the mystical aspirations, all the unuttered longings, all the starry desires and humble but passionate worship of the men who had passed away from this land of the sun, leaving part of their truth behind them to move through the ages of the souls of men.

He turned at last, and slowly, almost with precaution, he moved from the sunlight into the darkness.

And darkness led to deeper darkness.  Never before in any building had Isaacson felt the call to advance so strongly as he felt it now.  And yet he lingered.  He was forced to linger by the perfect beauty of form which met him in this temple.  Never before had any creation of man so absolutely satisfied all the secret demands of his brain and of his soul.  He was inundated with a peace that praised, with a calm that loved and adored.  This temple built for adoration created within him the need to adore.  The perfection of its form was like a perfect prayer offered spontaneously to Him who created in man the power to create.

But though he lingered, and though he was strangely at peace, the darkness called him onward, as the desert calls the nomad who is travelling in it alone.

He was drawn by the innermost darkness of the sanctuary, the core of this house divine of the Hidden One.  And he went on between the columns, and up the delicate stone approaches; and though he was always drawing near to a deeper darkness, and natural man is repelled by darkness rather than enticed by it, he felt as if he were approaching something very beautiful, something even divine, something for which, all unconsciously, he had long been waiting and softly hoping.  For the spell of the dead architect was upon him, and the Holy of Holies lay beyond—­that chamber with narrow walls and blue roof, which contains an altar and shrine of granite, where once no doubt stood the statue of Horus, the God of the Sun.