But where the Dakktar Sahib's hut had been there was nothing.
He bowed his face upon his hands.
The men stared at him blankly, themselves too stupefied by loss for either pity or understanding. The minutes flowed past in mournful, stately silence. At last Tristram drew himself up. His eyes were calm—warm with a hardly won knowledge—and the awfulness had gone from him.
"Row me to the path behind the Temple.
"Dakktar Sahib——" they muttered.
"I shall not ask you to follow me," he said, gently.
They rowed out of Heerut towards the rising ground of the jungle mountains. The fiery wheel of the sun rose behind Gaya and the temple shone like a black opal in the morning glow. As they drew nearer Tristram's eyes sought out the great window of the sikhara. His thoughts were vague, unformed, still and serene as the water flowing peacefully over the plain. Through that window Vishnu watched for his beloved rising amidst her golden-haired dawn-maidens.
"It is here, Sahib."
They looked at him and now it was with awe—a kind of dumb protest, but he smiled at them, shaking his head.
"There is nothing to fear. Wait for me."