nly abandoned that far-away look of his, his habit of
seeing through the person with whom he was talking. He looked into
Saton's face steadily, almost fiercely.

"Young man," he said, "you talk like a fool. Now listen to me. These
are my parting words! There is stuff in you. You know a little. You
could be taught much more. And above all, you have the temperament.
Temperament is a wonderful thing," he added. "And yet, with all these
gifts, you make me feel as though I would like to take you by the
collar and lift you up in my arms--yes, I am strong though I am
thin--and throw you out of that window, and see you lie there, because
you are a fool!"

"Go on," Saton said, his face growing a little pale.

"Oh, you know it!" Naudheim declared. "You feel it in your blood. You
know it in your heart. You truckle to these people, you play at living
their life, and you forget, if ever you knew, that our great mistress
has never yet opened her arms save to those who have sought her
single-hearted and with a single purpose. You are a dallier,
philanderer. You will end your days wearing your fashionable clothes.
They may make you a professor here. You will talk learnedly. You will
write a book. And when you die, people will say a great man has gone.
Listen! You listen to me now with only half your ears, but listen once
more. The time may come. The light may burn in your heart, the truth
may fill your soul. Then come to me. Come to me, young man, and I will
make bone and sinew of your flabby limbs. I will take you in my hands
and I will teach you the way to the stars."

Silently, and without a glance on either side of him, Naudheim left
the room, amidst a silence which was almost an instinctive thing--the
realization, perhaps, of the strange nature of this man, who from a
stern sense of duty had left his hermit's life for a few days, to
speak with his fellow-workers.

It had been in some respects a very curious function, this. It was
neither meeting nor reception. There was neither host nor hostess,
except that Saton had shaken hands with a few, and from his place by
the side of Naudheim had indicated the turn of those who wished to
speak. Their visitor's peculiarities were well-known to all of them.
He had left them abruptly, not from any sense of discourtesy, but
because he had not the slightest idea of, or sympathy with, the
manners of civilized people. He had given them something to think
about. He had no desire to hear thei