“Yes,” said the old man, “it is better to attribute it to man’s agency than to God’s.”
The mysterious words were thus arranged:
[Drawing of apparently Sanskrit characters omitted]
Or, as it runs in English:
POSSESSING ME THOU SHALT POSSESS ALL THINGS.
BUT THY LIFE IS MINE, FOR GOD HAS SO WILLED IT.
WISH, AND THY WISHES SHALL BE FULFILLED;
BUT MEASURE THY DESIRES, ACCORDING
TO THE LIFE THAT IS IN THEE.
THIS IS THY LIFE,
WITH EACH WISH I MUST SHRINK
EVEN AS THY OWN DAYS.
WILT THOU HAVE ME? TAKE ME.
GOD WILL HEARKEN UNTO THEE.
SO BE IT!
“So you read Sanskrit fluently,” said the old man. “You have been in Persia perhaps, or in Bengal?”
“No, sir,” said the stranger, as he felt the emblematical skin curiously. It was almost as rigid as a sheet of metal.
The old merchant set the lamp back again upon the column, giving the other a look as he did so. “He has given up the notion of dying already,” the glance said with phlegmatic irony.
“Is it a jest, or is it an enigma?” asked the younger man.
The other shook his head and said soberly: