He sank down upon a rock from sheer exhaustion and was silent.
For a time there was no sign of life in the bent motionless figure peering far out into space, as if he were seeing the visioned future.
“Oh, woman!” he cried, “Divine part of creative wisdom!—Incarnation of man’s ideal of spiritual perfection! When will man recognize in thee the means of reorganizing the world, and place thee on the pedestal of his intellectual greatness! When will he cease to crucify thee on the diverse and conflicting polarity of his passional will? Woman lies a crushed and soiled lily; while man, the victim of vengeance to the powers of nature, wanders a fugitive on the earth, chained to the hell of his depraved imagination—The Great Spirit of Light and Wisdom is to him a tormenting fiend!”
After a time, Akaza went into the cave. The fire had warmed the interior, and the lamps shed a softened glow, which was comforting to the weary old man.
He was hungry, but the food seemed almost to choke him. It had pleased his fancy to have Yermah break bread and eat salt with him in this hidden retreat. In his weakness, he was sorely disappointed, and it cost him an effort to refrain from whimpering childishly.
Akaza awoke with a sudden start from a troubled sleep. It was with difficulty that he made his way to the mouth of the cavern and saw that the sun was hopelessly obscured by what appeared to be a heavy fog. He went back and threw himself down on the cushions and rugs where he had been sleeping, and there he would wait patiently until the time of sunset. If it were possible to get a glimpse of the Lord of Day at that hour, he would go back to the Temple of Neptune, where he lived.
Later, when Akaza was removing the temporary shutters at the entrance to the cave, a gust of wind blew the raindrops into his face. He knew at a glance that it would be a stormy night. The wind was rising, and the lowering, black clouds gave promise of a heavy downpour.
The sun crosses the earth’s magnetic meridian twice every twenty-four hours—once at sunrise, and again at sunset.
Akaza made three obeisances toward the west and stood motionless, drinking in the sweet influences of the sunset hour. His lips moved in silent prayer. For several minutes he communed with the subjective world, just coming into its waking activity. The physical world was falling asleep, and with it went the agitating thoughts of the day.
He was renewing his spiritual vigor, listening to the Voice of the Silence, holding converse with his own soul. As he took counsel of his higher self, the bells of the Observatory tower in Tlamco sounded like a silvery-tinkling sea-shell, faint but distinct to his clairaudient ear.