The man with whom Barbara had been talking went slowly up the temple steps. His face was haggard and drawn. There he paused and looked back across the yard.
"Credo in resurrectionem mortuorum," he muttered—"Yes, I believe in the resurrection of the dead!"
As he stood there the head priest pushed open the shoji. He bowed to the other on the threshold and came out.
"To-day my abashed thought has dwelt on your exalted work," he said. "Is our new image of Kwan-on peerlessly all but done, perhaps?"
Thorn shook his head. "It moves with exalted slowness. To-day I contemptibly have not worked."
The priest looked at him curiously, through his gold-rimmed spectacles.
"You are honorably unwell," he said. "It is better to lie down in the heat of the day. Presently I will say an insignificant prayer to the Hotoké-Sama—the Shining Ones—for your illustrious recovery."
"I am not ill," was the answer. "Be not augustly concerned."
He turned away slowly and crossed the little bridge to his own abode.