Of these things Oman saw none. He knew that they were there, but his eyes were at rest, and the troubles of life and of conquest had left his heart. He was floating swiftly into the sunset. His boat, guided as if by magic, swept on, down the rushing current, till the tiny, dark blot of the temple-tomb grew, and took shape, and drew near upon the right bank. After a time Oman stood up to watch, waiting for a moment when he could beach the boat beside the building. But help was not demanded of his hands. As they neared the destination, the river curved; and suddenly, driven by some counter-current, the boat whirled off and ran aground, exactly in front of the tomb. It was, perhaps, the selfsame twist that had, more than forty years before, thrown the bodies of the man and woman up out of their grim refuge. To him that was waiting to enter the temple, it was a miracle. He felt that he had chosen a true way; that his act in leaving Mandu had been approved by a higher mind than his. Now, in the golden afternoon, he stood alone before the tomb. A vast stillness encompassed him as he moved forward and unlocked the heavy doors. There, in the dim mustiness of the long-closed place, stood the two sarcophagi; and, as always, when he came alone hither, he had a feeling of intimacy with the dead. But this sense had never been so strong as now. He knelt beside the ashes of Ahalya and Fidá, and prayed to the great Brahm; and, as he prayed, there arose in his breast an overmastering desire:—the desire to lay himself down in the shadows of the little place and sleep. After a time he passed over to the resting-place of the old Rajah, and dumbly craved his forgiveness for the wrong done him by his wife and his slave. Then, finally, he went outside again, and stood upon the bank of the stream. Sunset had come. The Narmáda rushed by: a tempestuous flood of crimson and gold. The world was alight with fiery glory. It was the sign of the conqueror in the land. Only the being who stood alone in his surrounding solitude, the long years of his expiation and atonement behind him now, could turn his face fearlessly, without dread, toward that coppery sky. As he gazed into it, the gray and violet shadows came stealing out over the splendor. The day was dying. It was again the prophecy of the India that should, in time, conquer its conquerors. With a palpitating heart, Oman gazed about him, overcome by the strangest emotion. It was as if his souls were straining at their fetters. Yet still there was a sense of desolation, a lack of something that was to come. Darkness was around him. Then suddenly, out of the west, from the now hidden fires there, it appeared:—the slender, gray-winged bird, the mysterious complement of his souls. As of old, straight to his breast it flew, trembling and warm. Clasping it close, Oman lifted his head and murmured softly: “Lord, it is finished. Let me now go.”