t is astonishing in how short a space of time a man of vigorous character can make his personality felt. On the night of his mysterious advent, the Prophet had found his people in a condition of mental chaos—as liable to repudiate as to accept the seeker for their confidence; but before one month had passed he had, by domination of will, so moulded this neurotic mass of humanity that his own position had gradually and insensibly merged from suppliant into that of autocrat. Without a murmur of doubt or dissension the Mystics had proclaimed him their king.
On the last day of the thirty he sat alone in his room—the room in which he and the red-haired Precursor had held their private council on the night of his coming. The heavy purple curtains that shielded the windows were partly drawn, throwing a subdued, almost a devotional, light over the wide, imposing apartment and across the ebony table, on which rested the sacred Scitsym, surrounded by an array of smaller and more ancient books, several rolls of parchment, a number of quill pens, and a dish of ink. It was at this table that the Prophet sat; he wore the monastic white robe that he always affected in presence of his people, his arms were folded, and his face looked calm and grave, as though he appreciated the moment's solitude.
The solitude, however, was not destined to endure. The soft booming of a gong presently roused him to attention, and a moment later the door of the apartment opened and an ascetic-looking man, whose duty and privilege it was to wait upon him, entered deferentially.
He stood for a moment in an attitude of profound abasement; then he stepped forward and stood beside the table.
"Master," he said, in a low voice. "The newest among us would speak with you!"
The Prophet raised his head and a gleam of interest crossed his eyes; but almost immediately he subdued the look.
"I am willing," he replied, unemotionally, in the usual formula. Then he glanced at his attendant. "After this, the audiences for the day are over," he added.
The man bowed, and with awe-struck deference moved silently from the room, almost immediately reappearing, to usher in the devotee, and with the same conscious air of mystery, to retire, closing the heavy door.
For a moment the new-comer stood just inside the threshold. As on the night of the Prophet's coming, she wore a long, black dress that accentuated her height and grace, and brought into prominence the clear pallor of her skin and the remarkable luminous brilliance of her eyes. A struggle between superstitious dread and human curiosity was distinctly visible in her expression as she stood uncertain of her position, doubtful as to her first move.