the fourth torrents of water were rushing down the
mountain and the desert was once more brown and bare, though not for
long, for within another week it was carpeted with flowers. Then we knew
that the time had come to start.

"But whither go you? Whither go you?" asked the old abbot in dismay.
"Are you not happy here? Do you not make great strides along the Path,
as may be known by your pious conversation? Is not everything that we
have your own? Oh! why would you leave us?"

"We are wanderers," we answered, "and when we see mountains in front of
us we must cross them."

Kou-en looked at us shrewdly, then asked--"What do you seek beyond the
mountains? And, my brethren, what merit is gathered by hiding the truth
from an old man, for such concealments are separated from falsehoods but
by the length of a single barleycorn. Tell me, that at least my prayers
may accompany you."

"Holy abbot," I said, "awhile ago yonder in the library you made a
certain confession to us."

"Oh! remind me not of it," he said, holding up his hands. "Why do you
wish to torment me?"

"Far be the thought from us, most kind friend and virtuous man," I
answered. "But, as it chances, your story is very much our own, and we
think that we have experience of this same priestess."

"Speak on," he said, much interested.

So I told him the outlines of our tale; for an hour or more I told it
while he sat opposite to us swaying his head like a tortoise and saying
nothing. At length it was done.

"Now," I added, "let the lamp of your wisdom shine upon our darkness. Do
you not find this story wondrous, or do you perchance think that we are
liars?"

"Brethren of the great monastery called the World," Kou-en answered
with his customary chuckle, "why should I think you liars who, from the
moment my eyes fell upon you, knew you to be true men? Moreover, why
should I hold this tale so very wondrous? You have but stumbled upon
the fringe of a truth with which we have been acquainted for many, many
ages.

"Because in a vision she showed you this monastery, and led you to a
spot beyond the mountains where she vanished, you hope that this woman
whom you saw die is re-incarnated yonder. Why not? In this there is
nothing impossible to those who are instructed in the truth, though the
lengthening of her last life was strange and contrary to experience.
Doubtless you will find her there as you expect, and doubtless her
_khama_, or identity, is the same as