he said, presently. "It
chanced that when I was at Calcutta several years ago, I met a native
Indian doctor to whom I was fortunate enough to be of some service. My
meeting with this man was the most wonderful thing which has ever
happened to me. I shall never cease to be grateful to him. If the world
knew his name and what he has made possible to science, he would be the
most famous man of this or any generation. He reawakened all my old
interest in my profession."

His pale face had become fervid, the bright light of the enthusiast was
burning in his dark eyes. Eleanor felt that she had become once more
only a unit in his eyes, a mere atom of humanity, whose interest to him
was purely scientific and impersonal. She found herself trembling. What
had these things to do with her? She was afraid of what might come. She
remembered that he had spoken of death.

"Oh, that wonderful East," he continued, in a low tone. "How puny it
makes us feel with our new civilization, our shoddiness, our
materialism, which is only another name for hopeless ignorance. What
treasures of art lie buried there, what strange secrets sleep forever in
the tombs of their wise men. Halkar told me that he was but the disciple
of one immeasurably greater, who had died, indeed, with many of the
primal secrets of existence locked in his bosom because there was no one
left behind with whom he dared to trust them."

"Tell me about these secrets," Eleanor said. "Were they of the past, or
of the future? And what have you or I to do with them?"

"We are children of the ages," he answered, "and it is our heritage to
learn. Halkar taught me much. He set me down at the gate of that
wonderful inner world. He placed in my hands the key. With your aid, it
is possible that I may pass inside."

"With my aid!" Eleanor exclaimed breathlessly. "How can that be? What
could I do?"

He smiled at her, and Eleanor felt again that vague fear stirring in her
heart.

"One day Halkar took me to a native village. We went to the house of a
rich man. We found him at home, just returned from hunting. He was
handsome, hospitable, and, it seemed to me, intelligent. But just before
we left Halkar asked him a question about the great storm which laid
waste the village and the whole countryside only a year before. He
looked puzzled, answered us courteously, but vaguely. He remembered
nothing."

He paused.

"There was an English nurse-girl," he continued. "Halkar took me to s