Beyond reach of doubt, I was convinced that Master Mahasaya was in intimate converse with the Universal Mother. It was deep humiliation to realize that my eyes were blind to Her who even at this moment was perceptible to the faultless gaze of the saint. Shamelessly gripping his feet, deaf to his gentle remonstrances, I besought him again and again for his intervening grace. “I will make your plea to the Beloved.” The master’s capitulation came with a slow, compassionate smile. What power in those few words, that my being should know release from its stormy exile? “Sir, remember your pledge! I shall return soon for Her message!” Joyful anticipation rang in my voice that only a moment ago had been sobbing in sorrow. Descending the long stairway, I was overwhelmed by memories. This house at 50 Amherst Street, now the residence of Master Mahasaya, had once been my family home, scene of my mother’s death. Here my human heart had broken for the vanished mother; and here today my spirit had been as though crucified by absence of the Divine Mother. Hallowed walls, silent witness of my grievous hurts and final healing! My steps were eager as I returned to my Gurpar Road home. Seeking the seclusion of my small attic, I remained in meditation until ten o’clock. The darkness of the warm Indian night was suddenly lit with a wondrous vision. Haloed in splendor, the Divine Mother stood before me. Her face, tenderly smiling, was beauty itself. “Always have I loved thee! Ever shall I love thee!” The celestial tones still ringing in the air, She disappeared. The sun on the following morning had hardly risen to an angle of decorum when I paid my second visit to Master Mahasaya. Climbing the staircase in the house of poignant memories, I reached his fourth-floor room. The knob of the closed door was wrapped around with a cloth; a hint, I felt, that the saint desired privacy. As I stood irresolutely on the landing, the door was opened by the master’s welcoming hand. I knelt at his holy feet. In a playful mood, I wore a solemn mask over my face, hiding the divine elation. “Sir, I have come-very early, I confess!-for your message. Did the Beloved Mother say anything about me?” “Mischievous little sir!” Not another remark would he make. Apparently my assumed gravity was unimpressive. “Why so mysterious, so evasive? Do saints never speak plainly?” Perhaps I was a little provoked. “Must you test me?” His calm eyes were full of understanding. “Could I add a single word this morning to the assurance you received last night at ten o’clock from the Beautiful Mother Herself?” Master Mahasaya possessed control over the flood-gates of my soul: again I plunged prostrate at his feet. But this time my tears welled from a bliss, and not a pain, past bearing. “Think you that your devotion did not touch the Infinite Mercy? The Motherhood of God, that you have worshiped in forms both human and divine, could never fail to answer your forsaken cry.”