He walked slowly out of the shade of the trees. With each step, his blood chilled a little, in spite of noon heat. He thought of _The Public Square_, of Pidge Musser at the desk there, of Harrow Street. Death had to come some time, but life wasn’t boring him just now. The sunlight of the open stretch stung his eyes with great weariness. The deep voice called from behind: “Stay, my pupil!” Dicky halted and returned, looking down into the apparently guileless and desireless eye. “Alms for the temple in Cawnpore,” the lips intone. “By all means, father,” the other said, no visible change upon his face, as he placed in the palm of the beggar several bits of silver from his purse. In the burning day again, he lifted a tired smile to the sun. No true mystic, perhaps, but what had this man seen in the crystals? XLII LALA RELU RAM NAGAR took him by the hand at the railway station in Amritsar on the evening of the ninth of April, 1919. The need for many words seemed past; there was quiet gladness. Dicky took up his quarters in the _Golden Temple Inn_. Under the lights at the entrance, as he passed in with Nagar, groups of Mohammedans and Hindus stood together, with self-conscious but eager shows of mutual friendship, and the American rubbed his eyes. If there was one thing in India that could be counted upon like Government itself, it was the mutual hatred of these two great divisions of native life. Dicky had heard in recent days much of the swift breaking down of these barriers, under the influence of Mahatma-ji, but he had seen no example of it working out like this under the lights of the Inn. “But what do the English think when they see the Hindu and Moslem _kowtowing_ to each other--as at the door below when we came in?” Dicky inquired. “The Deputy Commissioner, the highest English civilian of Amritsar, looked upon a similar spectacle to-day,” Nagar said. “I did not hear him, but he is reported to have remarked, ‘There’s going to be a row here,’ and drank much cold soda water.” “What is your work here, Nagar?” “I have been working among the students at the college of Lahore, and now here in Amritsar, working with the young men and women.” “Preaching Gandhi’s sort of peace?” “Yes,” said Nagar. “I still wonder that the English don’t ‘get’ the Little Man, Nagar.” “The Government regards him as harmless because he speaks of Soul-force. It deals with precedents; Mahatma-ji with ideals----” “You think the Government will arrest him sooner or later?” “Oh, yes.” “Won’t that stop or hurt the work?” “I remember,” said Nagar, “hearing the school children in New York sing, ‘John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave, but his Soul goes marching on.’ A spiritual beginning never stops. Mahatma-ji has already brought his few spiritual principles into matter, into action.” “Tunnel,” said Dicky.