Chris gave a sort of inarticulate cry, and his hands rose passionately to his ears as if to shut out the words which were enlisting all things that were good in him on the side of something which he still condemned. But, as he stopped his ears despairingly, a sound came which no hand could quite shut out.
It was the clang of the temple bell, proclaiming that the Eucharist of Hindooism was ready for communicants; that the Water of Life which had touched the gods was waiting for those who thirsted for it.
Muffled, half heard, it seemed to vibrate afresh on every tense nerve of his mind and body. He stood up dazed, half hypnotised by it, by the figure--a dim shadow of a man that had risen also, smiling softly, among the dim arches.
'Come, my son,' it said, 'so far thou art with us! Let the rest be for a while. But this, stripped of its husk, is thine.--Come!'
And as it passed silently into the courtyard, Chris passed too, lost in the familiar unfamiliarity of all things. Of the clustering spikes of the temples seen against the primrose sky; of the drifting hint of incense shut in by the arcades; of the bare empty silence broken only by that clanging bell. The scarlet streak was passing outwards, already sanctified, approved. Others would come, but for the moment there was solitude; save for that half-dozen of indifferent disciples droning over their devotions, and the officiating priest, unseen within the temple.
Unseen, because it was the Swâmi himself who, returning from the darkness of the sanctuary--into which he had passed swiftly, leaving Chris hesitating on the lowest step--stood on the upper one, the Churrun-âmrit in his hands, and bending low, said--
'Drink, Krishn Davenund! and live.'
The words came like a command, making the slender brown hands curve themselves into a cup.
How cool the holy water was on those hot palms! Dear God! How cool, how restful! The man's whole soul was in his lips as he stooped and drank thirstily.
A dream! a dream! but what a heavenly dream!