Richard More shaded his eyes, and nodded assent. At the base of the mountain, rising barely to the knees of the great seated figure, he could see the other temple huddled among the trees. “I can see it,” he said. “Go there—and inquire. Here—take the map. I think we are very near now. But—” Kou Ying hesitated. “I should feel safer—” he murmured. Then his eyes fell on Eleanor More standing with relaxed hands, waiting, and his face lighted and glowed curiously. He drew aside with a gesture of abnegation. “If you need me, signal from the gate—or from the wall. I shall wait here with the men—and come if you need me.” He bowed gravely and motioned to the men. They drew back and watched the two figures descend the winding path that led to the valley. Sometimes a rock obscured them, and sometimes they passed under overhanging trees or disappeared beneath the arch of a bridge or fantastic tower that spanned the way.... Each time a little nearer to the city and to the great seated figure of the Buddha of the mountain. And when the two figures halted a minute at the gate and disappeared within the wall Kou Ying made a significant gesture to the men; and the little retinue in the clearing on the mountain above the valley fell on their faces in silence.... Across the valley, the great Buddha brooded, and above it rose the temple and two thin trees, transparent in the gray morning light. And on the high plateau that faced the god, the single figure of Kou Ying stood erect among the kneeling men and kept watch for a signal from the gate or the city wall. XXIII Through his barred window, the old priest looked out at them with unseeing eyes. There was an interval and he stood beside them, looking down at their dusty clothes and travel-stained faces with quiet, understanding gaze. Even before the interpreter came, with his high, sing-song words that translated their wishes, even before Richard More took from his pocket the yellow map and laid it in the old priest’s hand, they knew that they were come to the end of their search. The priest listened with bowed head. Once or twice he nodded assent, and when the interpreter finished, he looked at Eleanor More with slow, kind eyes. He folded the map and handed it back and pointed to a little house among the trees. Then he spoke to the interpreter in a low tone and motioned to the figure of the god cut in the rock above, and entered the temple. An old man, half-asleep before his door, roused himself. He listened to the interpreter and shook his head. His face was as motionless as the plank it leaned against. The interpreter spoke again, sharply, and the old eyes turned to him with slow, incurious look. The interpreter flung one hand upward, toward the seated Buddha towering above; and the old gaze followed it unsteadily—up—up to the great gilded face. For a long minute he gazed at the god in the face of the mountain. Then he rose slowly and entered the darkened house.