He felt something cold pass over his hand; he started, and became aware that the good priest had finished his devotions. He tapped gently, and was told to enter, which he did hesitatingly. In the middle of the cell sat the priest, who seemed, even in his old age, full of the vigor of manhood; his legs were crossed, his arms folded, and his eyes cast down; he did not even raise them at the entrance of the young man; he was in that semi-stupor commonly called contemplation. In one corner a narrow plank, quite bare, and a wooden pillow served for his bed; beside it an old fan, a pot for water, an earthen vessel for rice, some rude old instruments and books; beyond these the cell was bare, damp, cold, slimy, and unhealthy. It was without any light, save where the moonlight fell in ghastly lights and shadows through the slits in the wall. "My father," said the young man, as he reverently prostrated himself before the priest, who half opened his dull eyes, and said: "S'amana phinong" (peace, brother). "Alas!" replied Dhamaphat; "in this life there is no peace, no rest, no freedom from suffering; the endless revolutions of the wheel only crush out life, to reproduce it again in another form." "Take the reins, and ride over it, then," said the priest, meditatively. "What says the Dharma padam?"[8] "Stop the chariot valiantly; arrest the horses of desire. When thou hast comprehended that which is made, thou wilt understand that which is not made,--the uncreate. Some do not know that we must all come to an end here; but some do know it, and with them all conflicts cease. He who lives for pleasure only, his passions uncontrolled, immoderate in his enjoyments, idle and weak, him will the tempter overcome, as the wind overcomes a worm-eaten tree." "If we could live a thousand years, it would be worth our while to struggle after the pleasures of this world. Death comes too soon. There are many beginnings, but no ending to life. Let us practise the four virtues, my brother; they alone are real, satisfactory, the true illuminators of the mind; without this inward illumination, what is life but darkness, storms, wild, unconscious tumult, the ceaseless tumbling of the fierce tides of passion; and death, but exhaustion?" "Alas!" cried the young man, in a voice full of emotion; "is life indeed such an empty void? Is there no compensation anywhere?" The priest opened wide his half-closed eyes, looked full into Dhamaphat's face, and remarked: "Thou art strangely disturbed to-night, my brother. Is it not well with thee?" Dhamaphat made no reply. There was sympathy, and a touch of tender feeling in the voice of the priest, as he bent close to his young pupil, and said: "What is thy suffering? Speak freely to me, and I will aid thee to the utmost of my ability." Saying this, the priest arose, and passed his hand slowly over the clefts in the wall. Instantly the moon withdrew her light. At this moment the night-owl suddenly gave a harsh and prolonged cry.