There was a short silence. Oman was sick now with dread of a next question,—that never came. Hushka was turning certain matters rapidly over in his mind. From the first, Oman’s intense interest in his words had been a mystery to him. Converts to Buddhism were seldom made, in this day. It was now most rarely that the Bhikkhus brought novices back with them for the Vassa; and the few that came were almost always of Sudra caste. Oman, on the other hand, was apparently of high breeding; and only some unusual fact could have brought him into his present situation. Hushka scented some misdeed, crime, perhaps, that had put the youth into present bad standing. But the misdeed of a Brahman was no Buddhist’s affair. To make him a convert was the chief consideration; for had not the great Buddha received into his order men of dark past? There was excellent precedent for what Hushka wished to do. Later in his companionship with Oman, Hushka’s first suspicion of crime was completely laid by the openness of his pupil’s behavior. But, in justice to the Bhikkhu be it said, he had never, until the end, the faintest suspicion of the real nature of Oman’s trouble. Many thoughts and much reasoning passed rapidly through Hushka’s mind; and then he turned again to the youth, and said to him: “Thou hast asked me if thou canst become a Bhikkhu. I answer thee—yes. But first you must know something of our lives, and the purpose of them. Then, understanding all that is to be renounced, if you would still join us, I will myself give you the first ordination, the Pabbagga, and will take you as my pupil. I will be your master, your Upagghaya; for I have instructed many youths through their novitiate. Later, you will be given the second, the highest ordination, Upasampada, and so become a Bhikkhu. But first you must understand whither I would lead you.” “Tell me! Tell me,” besought Oman, looking into Hushka’s eyes, before whose steady orbs his own suddenly fell. And so, while they walked, the Buddhist expounded to the lonely youth the simple doctrines of the great religion: the renunciation of desire, of pleasure, of indulgence in the flesh, and the growth of that serenity that leads gradually to Nirvana, the great extinction. And the plan of it all, the eightfold abstinence, the fourfold path, seemed to Oman a perfect conception. The whole doctrine was, to his troubled soul, like balm on a deep wound, a draught of water to one perishing in the desert. And in his delight, he was freed from traditional prejudice, and gave himself up entirely to the new companionship.