“I cannot see the face, but the voice is like a gong. Has the Sahiba made a young man of thee by her cookery?” He peered at the cross-legged figure, outlined jet-black against the lemon-coloured drift of light. So does the stone Bodhisat sit who looks down upon the patent self-registering turnstiles of the Lahore Museum. The lama held his peace. Except for the click of the rosary and a faint _clop-clop_ of Mahbub’s retreating feet, the soft, smoky silence of evening in India wrapped them close. “Hear me! I bring news.” “But let us—” Out shot the long yellow hand compelling silence. Kim tucked his feet under his robe-edge obediently. “Hear me! I bring news! The Search is finished. Comes now the Reward... Thus. When we were among the Hills, I lived on thy strength till the young branch bowed and nigh broke. When we came out of the Hills, I was troubled for thee and for other matters which I held in my heart. The boat of my soul lacked direction; I could not see into the Cause of Things. So I gave thee over to the virtuous woman altogether. I took no food. I drank no water. Still I saw not the Way. They pressed food upon me and cried at my shut door. So I removed myself to a hollow under a tree. I took no food. I took no water. I sat in meditation two days and two nights, abstracting my mind; inbreathing and outbreathing in the required manner ... Upon the second night—so great was my reward—the wise Soul loosed itself from the silly Body and went free. This I have never before attained, though I have stood on the threshold of it. Consider, for it is a marvel!” “A marvel indeed. Two days and two nights without food! Where was the Sahiba?” said Kim under his breath.