It had become late, and night was drawing on, the moon throwing her silvery light over the landscape which was visible through the open bamboos.
“Now,” said Gurupada, rising, “pardon me, noble Siddha, if with your tutor and my friend I withdraw from the pleasure of your company. I have much to say to him which for the present must be a secret, and in which you probably would have but little interest. If you wish to refresh yourself there is the lake, and to a bath in the open air you are doubtless well accustomed.”
The two elder men left the room together, and for long after Siddha saw them arm-in-arm, walking up and down, deep in earnest converse. When they returned it was time to go to rest, and the travellers were well pleased to stretch their weary limbs on the sleeping-places prepared for them.
Early the next morning, after a fresh bath and hearty breakfast, our travellers were ready to continue their journey. While the horses were being saddled, Gurupada drew Siddha on one side, out of hearing of Kulluka, and said—
“Holy hermits, when young men visit them, are not accustomed to let them depart without some instruction and advice. You expect, perhaps, the same from me; but you are mistaken. I can add nothing to what Kulluka, your wise and learned guru has doubtless already taught you. The world you are going to seek, and life itself, must teach you what remains. Still, one word, to which I will add a request. Do not fear, when you enter the luxurious and magnificent court at Agra, to take your part in all lawful diversions and amusements; and thus you will learn to distinguish the real from the unreal. Think always of what doubtless your tutor has often taught you, keep your conscience pure, and take good care that no deed of yours shall ever give cause of shame either to others or to yourself. But should it happen that, in spite of your earnest striving to keep these precepts, the repose of your conscience should be disturbed, and you wish for some friend to whom you could open your heart, think then of an old friend of your father and your tutor, and come to the Hermit of Badrinath. Will you promise me this?”
“I promise it,” answered Siddha, simply, but with manly earnestness, as he folded his arms respectfully on his breast. With greater friendliness than before, Gurupada took him by both hands, and pressed them heartily.
The horses were soon brought forward, and the riders, after taking leave of the hermit, sprang into their saddles, and, followed by the servants, took their way from the jungle to the mountain path.
More than once Siddha looked back, casting a glance to where the figure of the wise man was still visible between the trunks of the tall trees, standing at the threshold of his dwelling, with the tiger by his side, and then rode silently by his companion, buried in thought.
Suddenly, as though waking from a day-dream, he drew in his horse with such force as almost to throw it upon its haunches.
“Kulluka,” he exclaimed, “I never saw such a man as Gurupada.” But at the same time he coloured to the ears, thinking, but too late, that this exclamation might not be very pleasing to his friend and teacher.