The morning repast was hastier than had been that of the evening; and about sunrise the pilgrims, after many good wishes and farewells from those they were leaving, set forth again on their way. This time they took no food with them in their bowls; for in the early afternoon they should reach a mountain village where, after Hushka had preached in the bazaar, they were sure to obtain at least one meal. This morning’s walk was difficult, for it lay steadily uphill. Hushka, however, kept the mind of his pupil too much occupied for him to feel the weariness of the road. The master talked to him of religion, explained the canon of Buddhist law in its simple form, and repeated long passages from holy books. Oman listened intently to everything. His new religion delighted him anew. The laws that he heard seemed to him divinely wise, so well were they adapted to human weakness. And all the time, in his subconsciousness, he had another joy: that to-day he should again hear Hushka speak to many people. The Bhikkhu’s conversation was precious; but Oman, thirsting for a broader triumph, was waiting to watch his magnetism again gather up an antagonistic audience and draw them to his feet. And Oman came to taste the fulness of this delight; for, wherever they went, success followed Hushka’s preaching. What it was—the expression of his great eyes, the low, musical, leisurely tones of his admirably managed voice, or perhaps just the words he spoke—his pupil could not determine: probably a measure of all three. At any rate, even in this day of the fall of the great faith, in many towns from Bágh to Dhár and even farther to the north, the annual coming of the Bhikkhu Hushka was awaited as an event; and where he stopped for the first time, he was remembered with delight, and his return hoped for. Nor, after one of his discourses, was there to be found even a Brahman, that had heard him, who had anything but words of praise for his eloquence.