naught. Therefore we will go out again together, and our Search is sure.'
'Whither go we?'
'What matters, Friend of all the World? The Search, I say, is sure. If need be, the River will break from the ground before us. I acquired merit when I sent thee to the Gates of Learning, and gave thee the jewel that is Wisdom. Thou didst return, I saw even now, a follower of Sakyamuni, the Physician, whose altars are many in Bhotiyal. It is sufficient. We are now together, and all things are as they were—Friend of all the World—Friend of the Stars—my chela.'
Then they talked of matters secular; but it was noticeable that the lama never asked him for any details of his life at St. Xavier's nor showed the faintest curiosity as to the manners and customs of Sahibs. His mind seemed all in the past, and he revived every step of their wonderful first journey together, rubbing his hands and chuckling, till it pleased him to curl himself up into the sudden sleep of old age.
Kim watched the last of the sunshine fade out of the court, and played with his ghost-dagger and rosary. The clamour of Benares, oldest of all earth's cities awake before the Gods, day and night, beat round the walls as the roar of a sea round a break-water. Now and again, a Jain priest crossed the court, with some small offering to the images, and swept the path about him lest by chance he should crush the life out of a living thing. A lamp twinkled, and there followed the sound of a prayer. Kim watched the stars as they rose one after another in the still, sticky dark, till he fell asleep at the foot of the altar. That night he dreamed in Hindu-stance, with never an English word. . . .
'Holy One, there is the child to whom we gave the medicine,'
