“Night comes and the Gods are far. Go in and sleep, beloved,—Yet do not forget the words we have spoken together, for grief comes to all and when it comes there is but one way—to agree nobly with necessity.” And she took the dust from his feet, rapt on the beauty of his eyes and went, carrying the child with her. PART II CHAPTER VII THUS have I heard. On that night of terror and wonder were strange influences astir in the darkness, influences moving steadily to war. For the battle was not between the armies of Kings nor was the prize a throne, but a combat strange, unearthly between the armies of the Appetites and Desires, and the warriors of the World of pure spirit and wisdom eternal, and there and thus was it fought. It was the night of No Moon and the stars hung larger and brighter, suspended but a little above the earth, and the dark was still and breathless, so that Siddhartha would have willingly sat all night by Rohini listening to the cool ripple of water as she made her way through the gardens to an end he knew not. But this could not be, for by the Maharaja’s new orders the women must dog his footsteps, never permitting him to wander, or remain unseen. And thus, though they were invisible, he knew that bright eyes watched in every brake, and feet light as a spirit’s trod noiselessly where he went. Therefore at last, sighing, he rose and passed into the Hall where the dancers stood ready to sway in their beautiful measure, and the singers and musicians were ranged in order, fair face outshining fair face until the most beautiful were nearest to the gold cushions of his seat. But the Princess Yashodara slept far off in the little marble chamber with her child clasped to her bosom. And at last as the night went on a deep weariness oppressed him and lay like lead on his eyelids, and the subtly stealing dark and wearisome iteration of music and of rhythmic feet became like an opiate, and his head dropped on the raised pillows and he slept. So the dance slackened quietly and the dancers whispered one to another: “How pale is the Prince! How careworn! Was it wise in the Maharaj to hide from him what cannot be hidden? But we are dancers—this is not our business. Do not wake him lest there be anger. Mute the instruments very slowly and softly and let none jangle as we lay it aside. We must not leave him alone, lest suddenly he awake and demand more pleasure, therefore remain here but be very quiet and, if it be possible, sleep. O, it is good to rest. We too are weary of singing and dancing. It is a hard service. Sleep, sisters, sleep.”