"_We beseech Thee, that in this place now set apart to Thy service, Thy holy name may be worshiped in truth and purity through all generations._" The voice rang valiant and clear in the summer hush. It crossed the still lane and entered a window where, in a temple loft, a man sat still and gray and quiet, his hands clenched in his _kimono_ sleeves: "_We humbly dedicate it to Thee, in the memory of one for the saving of whose soul Thou wert lifted upon the Cross._" The man in the loft threw himself on his face with a terrible cry. "My child!" he cried in a breaking voice. "My little, little child, whom they have robbed me of--whom I have never known in all these weary years! You have grown away from me--I shall never have you now! Never ... never!" Behind him the unfinished image of Kwan-on the All-Pitying, tossed the sunlight about the room in golden-lettered flashes, and beneath his closed and burning lids these seemed to blend and weave--to form bossed letters which had stared at him from the rim of the rose-window: THOU SHALT HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME. CHAPTER XXIX DAUNT LISTENS TO A SONG The day had dawned sultry, with a promise of summer humidity, and Daunt was not surprised to find the barometer performing intemperate antics. "Confound it!" he muttered irritably, as he dressed. "If it was a month later, one would think there was a typhoon waltzing around somewhere in the China Sea."