curred--perhaps neither was conscious that it had even taken place.
But the fact remained that, with her, he no longer felt compelled to
hold aloof; that, with her, he had discarded the allegorical manner of
speech, and had begun to show himself as he naturally was.

"Even weaknesses?" he said again, as she made no attempt to answer.

At the words her eyes once more met his.

"Yes," she said, with new resolution--"yes, even weaknesses. I often
think that it is because you are so--so human that you hold us as you
do. It seems right that a Prophet should belong to the people he has
come to teach. All the prophets of the world have essentially belonged
to their own times. If you had sat upon the Throne all day and communed
with your Soul, I should have been very much afraid of you; but I should
never have believed in you as I do now, when you talk to me and advise
me and help me like--like a friend." Her voice trembled slightly.

A peculiar expression crossed the Prophet's face.

"So I seem a--friend?"

"More than a friend. I can never tell you what you have been to me--what
you have done for me. I have never been so happy--so satisfied in my
life, as in these last three weeks. Every disappointment and
dissatisfaction seems to have slipped away; I seem to have been living
in some calm, beautiful, restful atmosphere--" She paused, her face as
well as her voice tinged with a subtle excitement.

"It may be very selfish, but I wish that these days could go on forever.
I know that, for you, they are only a probation; that you must crave for
the moment when, having taught us everything, you will go out into the
world and teach the Unbelievers. I know all that, and I know it is only
right, but--but I hate to think of it!" A sudden break came in her
voice.

"You hate to think that all this must end?"

Again their eyes met; but, as though the contact of glances embarrassed
her, Enid looked away.

"Yes, I do hate it. Do you despise me for being so selfish--so jealous
of those other people who will take our place?"

For a moment the Prophet made no reply. In the dim light of the room,
the muscles of his hard face looked set; his strong hands were clasped.

"Do you despise me?" she asked again.

"It is not for me to judge any one--you least of all," he answered,
without looking at her.

At the subdued tone, the unexpected words, she turned to him
apprehensively.

"You are angry with me?"

"Indeed, no."

"Then wha