of learned talk, as the Swami can
flavour a pillau of religion. Where he comes, there will be trouble
afterwards, and arrests. But no Siri Chandranath. He is off making
trouble elsewhere."

"Chandranath--_here_?" Roy's heart gave a jerk, half excitement, half
apprehension.

"Your Honour has heard the man?"

"No. I'm glad of the chance."

As they entered, the second speaker stepped on to the platform....

True talk, indeed! There stood the boy who had whimpered under Scab
Major's bullying, in the dark coat and turban of the educated Indian;
his back half turned, in confidential talk with a friend, who had set a
carafe and tumbler ready to hand. The light of a wall lamp shone full on
his friend's face--clean-cut, handsome, unmistakable....

_Dyan_! Dyan--and Chandranath! It was the conjunction that confounded
Roy and tinged elation with dismay. He could hardly contain himself till
Dyan joined the audience; standing a little apart; not taking a seat.
Something in his face reminded Roy of the strained fervour in his letter
to Aruna. Carefully careless, he edged his way through the outer fringe
of the audience, and volunteered a remark or two in Hindustani.

"A full meeting, brother. Your friend speaks well?"

Dyan turned with a start. "Where are _you_ from, that you have not heard
him?" He scrutinised Roy's appearance. "A hill man----?"

Roy edged nearer and spoke in English under his breath. "Dyan--look at
me. Don't make a scene. I am Roy--from Jaipur."

In spite of the warning, Dyan drew back sharply. "_What_ are you here
for--spying?"

"No. Hoping to find you. Because--I care; and Aruna cares----"

"Better to care less and understand more," Dyan muttered brusquely. "No
time for talk now. Listen. You may learn a few things Oxford could not
teach."

The implied sneer enraged Roy; but listen he must, perforce: and in the
space of half an hour he learnt a good deal about Chandranath and the
mentality of his type.

To the outer ear, he was propounding the popular modern doctrine of
'Yoga by action.' To the inner ear he was extolling passion and
rebellion in terms of a creed that enjoins detachment from both;
inciting to political murder, under sanction of the divine dictum, 'Who
kills the body kills naught ... Thy concern is with action alone, never
with results.' And his heady flights of rhetoric, like those of the
Swami, were frankly aimed at the scores of half-fledged youths who hung
upon his utterance.