"I believe what you say is true," he said. "A man who goes out into the world and enters into her conflicts must have only one side—the strong, hard, practical side; otherwise he can do nothing, neither for himself nor others. The idea came to me already the other night after I left you."
"Indeed?" Travers murmured. "What made you think of that, Rajah?"
Nehal gave a gesture which seemed to put the question to one side.
"Something I heard—saw," he said. "It does not matter. It made me hesitate. That is all."
"Hesitate?"
"To enter into the conflict. I felt for the moment that I was not fit—that it would overwhelm me. I had made a picture of the world, a picture which after all might not be the true one. I did not believe that I could bear the reality."
He bent his head wearily on his hand, and there followed an instant's silence in which Travers thoughtfully studied his companion. He was wondering what cross-current of influence had flowed into the stream on which he meant to sweep the prince toward his purpose. Any idea of relinquishing his plans had evaporated; the very suggestion of another influence having been sufficient to put him on his mettle and call to life the full energy of his headstrong ambition. He had the tact, however, to remain silent, and to leave Nehal's train of thought uninterrupted. And this required considerable patience and self-control, for the Rajah seemed to forget his existence, and sat staring vacantly in front of him, his head still resting on his hand.
"Yes," he went on suddenly, but without changing his position, "that is what I felt two nights ago. The practical, hard side of me seemed lacking. I felt that I was a dreamer, like the rest of my unfortunate race, and that to enter into battle with the world, as you suggested, could only bring misfortune. I did not realize then that, at whatever cost, it was my duty."
"Duty?"
"Yes. A dreamer has no right to his dreams, be they ever so beautiful, unless he changes them into substance. In my dreams I have loved the world and my fellow-creatures. But what does that avail me if I do nothing for the suffering and sorrow with which the world is filled? I must go out and help. I must put my whole wealth and strength to the task, even if I lose thereby my peace. I must 'sell all that I have.' Is not that the advice your Great Teacher gave to the young man seeking to do his duty?"