ts, and I was anxious that you should meet."

While Isaacs was speaking, Ram Lal advanced into the room and stood a
moment under the soft light, a gray figure, very tall, but not otherwise
remarkable. He was all gray. The long _caftan_ wrapped round him, the
turban which I had first thought white, the skin of his face, the
pointed beard and long moustache, the heavy eyebrows--a study of grays
against the barbaric splendour of the richly hung wall--a soft outline
on which the yellow light dwelt lovingly, as if weary of being cast back
and reflected from the glory of gold and the thousand facets of the
priceless gems. Ram Lal looked toward me, and as I gazed into his eyes I
saw that they too were gray--a very singular thing in the East--and that
they were very far apart, giving his face a look of great dignity and
fearless frankness. To judge by his features he seemed to be very thin,
and his high shoulders were angular, though the long loose garment
concealed the rest of his frame from view. I had plenty of time to note
these details, for he stood a full minute in the middle of the room, as
if deciding whether to remain or to go. Then he moved quietly to a divan
and sat down cross-legged.

"Abdul, you have done a good deed to-day, and I trust you will not
change your mind before you have carried out your present intentions."

"I never change my mind, Bam Lai," said Isaacs, smiling as he quoted his
visitor's own words. I was startled at first. What good deed was the
Buddhist referring to if not to the intended liberation of Shere Ali?
How could he know of it? Then I reflected that this man was, according
to Isaacs' declaration, an adept of the higher grades, a seer and a
knower of men's hearts. I resolved not to be astonished at anything that
occurred, only marvelling that it should have pleased this extraordinary
man to make his entrance like an ordinary mortal, instead of through the
floor or the ceiling.

"Pardon me," answered Ram Lal, "if I venture to contradict you. You do
change your mind sometimes. Who was it who lately scoffed at women,
their immortality, their virtue, and their intellect? Will you tell me
now, friend Abdul, that you have not changed your mind? Do you think of
anything, sleeping or waking, but the one woman for whom you _have_
changed your mind? Is not her picture ever before you, and the breath of
her beauty upon your soul? Have you not met her in the spirit as well as
in the flesh? Surely we