Yet, dismantled, worm-eaten, and ruined as the building appeared, it had been the school of young Dhamaphat for nearly ten years, and it was the home of a solitary old man, who had spent forty years of his lifetime forgetful of friends, affections, food, sleep, and almost of existence in his contemplations of the mystery of things beyond, and that still greater mystery called life; his friends and relations had endeavored by every artifice, the allurements of beauty and every other imaginable gratification, to divert him from the resolution he had adopted. Every attempt to dissuade him had been in vain. And now he had gained a fame as widespread as the most ambitious heart could desire. Among the people he was known under the title of P'hra Chow Sâduman, the sainted priest of heaven. Prodigious stories were afloat about him. Born of noble parents, he had from his early youth practised an asceticism so rigorous and severe that it had prepared him, it was thought, for his supernatural mission. It was not only alleged, but believed, that at the sound of his inspired voice the dead arose and walked, the sick were healed; that diseases vanished at the touch of his hand; sinners were converted by his simple admonition; wild beasts and serpents were obedient to his word; and that in his moments of ecstasy he floated in the air before the eyes of his disciples, passed through stone walls and barred gates, and, in fact, could do whatsoever he willed. The crumbling old door of the cell was partly open; no light was visible; and, as Dhamaphat stood there hesitating whether he would enter, a low, faint, tremulous sound came out of the darkness within, and floated upward on the silence of night like the voice of some celestial chorister. It was the Buddhist's evening hymn, or chant, and the familiar words-- "Nama Buddsa phakava thouraha, Sama Boodhsa thatsa Phutthang Purisa thamma sârâthi Sangkhang saranang ga cha mi," etc., freely translated, "O thou, who art thyself the light, Boundless in knowledge, beautiful as day, Irradiate my heart, my life, my night, Nor let me ever from thy presence stray!"-- touched his better nature and melted his heart. He stooped forward, and listened to it lovingly as it rose higher and higher, growing more and more exultant till it caught his trembling spirit, and bore it away beyond the confines of this world face to face with a Divine Ineffable Presence full of harmony and beauty. His anger and his grief were forgotten. So Dhamaphat turned his face to the sky. One moment he stood erect in an absolute halo of light, the next he was combatting darkly with the blind shadows of love and hate, cause and effect, merit and demerit, the endless evolutions of the "wheel" of an irresistible law into which all things are cast.