“There is more of the true in the child’s hope than in your despair, for it is of much avail to speak though but a few listen.  Better is the life which aids, though in sorrow, than the life which withdraws from pain unto solitude.  Yet it is not well to speak without power, for only the knower of Brahma can interpret the sacred writings truly.  It is well to be free ere we speak of freedom; then we have power and many hearken.”

“But who would leave joy for sorrow, and who being one with Brahma may return to give council?”

“Brother,” said Varunna, “here is the hope of the world.  Though many seek only for the eternal joy, yet the cry you heard has been heard by great ones who have turned backwards, called by these beseeching voices.  The small old path stretching far away leads through many wonderful beings to the place of Brahma; there is the first fountain, the world of beautiful silence, the light that has been undimmed since the beginning of time—­the joy where life fades into being; but turning backwards, the small old path winds away into the world of men, it enters every sorrowful heart, and the way of him who would tread therethro’ is stayed by its pain and barred by its delusion.  This is the way the great ones go; they turn with the path from the door of Brahma the warriors and the strong ones:  they move along its myriad ways; they overcome darkness with wisdom and pain with compassion.  After many conquered worlds, after many races of men, purified and uplifted they go to greater than Brahma.  In these, though few, is the hope of the world; these are the heroes for whom, returning, the earth puts forth her signal fires, and the Devas sing their hymns of welcome.”

We paused where the plateau widened out; there was scarce a ripple in the chill air; in quietness the snows glistened, a light reflected from the crores of stars that swung with gay and glittering motion above us.  We could hear the immense heart-beat of the world in the stillness; we had thoughts that went ranging through the heavens, not sad, but full of solemn hope.

“Brothers!  Master!  Look, the wonderful thing! and another, and yet another!” We heard Ananda calling; we looked and saw the holy blossom—­the midnight flower—­oh, may the earth again put forth such beauty—­it grew up from the snows with leaves of delicate crystal, a nimbus encircled each radiant bloom, a halo pale yet lustrous.  I bowed down before it lost in awe.  I heard Varunna say:—­“The earth, indeed puts forth her signal fires, and the Devas sing their hymn; listen!” We heard a music as of beautiful thought moving along the high places of the earth, full of infinite love and hope and yearning.

“Brothers, be glad, for One is born who has chosen the greater way.  Now I must pass onwards.  Kedar, Narayan, Ananda, farewell!  Nay, no further; it is long way to return, and the child will tire.”

He went on and passed from our sight.  But we did not return; we remained long, long in silence, looking at the sacred flower.