mber of quill pens,
and a dish of ink. It was at this table that the Prophet sat; he wore
the monastic white robe that he always affected in presence of his
people, his arms were folded, and his face looked calm and grave, as
though he appreciated the moment's solitude.

The solitude, however, was not destined to endure. The soft booming of a
gong presently roused him to attention, and a moment later the door of
the apartment opened and an ascetic-looking man, whose duty and
privilege it was to wait upon him, entered deferentially.

He stood for a moment in an attitude of profound abasement; then he
stepped forward and stood beside the table.

"Master," he said, in a low voice. "The newest among us would speak with
you!"

The Prophet raised his head and a gleam of interest crossed his eyes;
but almost immediately he subdued the look.

"I am willing," he replied, unemotionally, in the usual formula. Then he
glanced at his attendant. "After this, the audiences for the day are
over," he added.

The man bowed, and with awe-struck deference moved silently from the
room, almost immediately reappearing, to usher in the devotee, and with
the same conscious air of mystery, to retire, closing the heavy door.

For a moment the new-comer stood just inside the threshold. As on the
night of the Prophet's coming, she wore a long, black dress that
accentuated her height and grace, and brought into prominence the clear
pallor of her skin and the remarkable luminous brilliance of her eyes. A
struggle between superstitious dread and human curiosity was distinctly
visible in her expression as she stood uncertain of her position,
doubtful as to her first move.

The Prophet glanced at her, and the shadow of a smile touched his lips.

"Have no fear," he said. "Come forward!"

The strong, steady voice gave her courage, and with slightly agitated
haste she stepped towards the table.

The Prophet gravely motioned her to a seat and assumed an attitude of
attention. Upon each of the thirty mornings he had sat in this same
position in his ivory chair, while, one after another, the members of
the sect had claimed audience with him. Morning after morning he had
exhibited the same grave, aloof interest--his hands clasped, his eyes
upon the Scitsym--while the fearful, the fanatical, the hysterical had
poured forth their tales of struggle or aspiration. But now, on this
last morning, he was conscious of a new suggestion, a new impression in