He waited a few minutes for the right thing to come to him.

“I will think of the very old hermit who lived on the ledge of the mountains in India and who let my father talk to him through all one night,” he said at last.  This had been a wonderful story and one of his favorites.  Loristan had traveled far to see this ancient Buddhist, and what he had seen and heard during that one night had made changes in his life.  The part of the story which came back to Marco now was these words: 

“Let pass through thy mind, my son, only the image thou wouldst desire to see a truth.  Meditate only upon the wish of thy heart, seeing first that it can injure no man and is not ignoble.  Then will it take earthly form and draw near to thee.  This is the law of that which creates.”

“I am not afraid,” Marco said aloud.  “I shall not be afraid.  In some way I shall get out.”

This was the image he wanted most to keep steadily in his mind—­that nothing could make him afraid, and that in some way he would get out of the wine-cellar.

He thought of this for some minutes, and said the words over several times.  He felt more like himself when he had done it.

“When my eyes are accustomed to the darkness, I shall see if there is any little glimmer of light anywhere,” he said next.

He waited with patience, and it seemed for some time that he saw no glimmer at all.  He put out his hands on either side of him, and found that, on the side of the wall against which he stood, there seemed to be no shelves.  Perhaps the cellar had been used for other purposes than the storing of wine, and, if that was true, there might be somewhere some opening for ventilation.  The air was not bad, but then the door had not been shut tightly when the man opened it.

“I am not afraid,” he repeated.  “I shall not be afraid.  In some way I shall get out.”

He would not allow himself to stop and think about his father waiting for his return.  He knew that would only rouse his emotions and weaken his courage.  He began to feel his way carefully along the wall.  It reached farther than he had thought it would.

The cellar was not so very small.  He crept round it gradually, and, when he had crept round it, he made his way across it, keeping his hands extended before him and setting down each foot cautiously.  Then he sat down on the stone floor and thought again, and what he thought was of the things the old Buddhist had told his father, and that there was a way out of this place for him, and he should somehow find it, and, before too long a time had passed, be walking in the street again.