Now it is told—but this I cannot know—that this hunter was the same divine spirit, who disguised in flesh had brought enlightenment to the Prince, but be that as it may, he took the garment and went his way in silence. And having made this exchange Siddhartha took off his jewels one by one and placed them in the hands of Channa, and stood a moment in the dull garment as it were a bright star in eclipse, and so looked into the faithful eyes of Channa—as though he would have spoken. But this he could not, then slowly turning he made his way to the forest, and its boughs and leaves opened to receive him, he parting them with his hands, and he passed in and was seen no more. And Channa left alone, cried aloud “It is done.” Raising his hands to the unpitying skies and letting fall his arm on the neck of Kantaka, he stumbled homeward, his tears falling, and great fear and grief possessing his soul. And here and thus ends the scripture of the great Renunciation leading us onward to the Discipline, the Enlightenment and the Victory. CHAPTER VIII THUS have I heard. Going deeper into the forest, calm and resolved in mind, startling the deer as he passed, the birds rising about him with cries, the Prince went on his way, plucking the wild berries and fruits for food, he who had been served from gold and silver, and the sun now fully risen poured floods of light between the quivering leaves and ancient branches of those venerable trees. And as he passed, seeing the world so beautiful, dew trembling like crystals upon leaf and flower and the perfume of the morning exhaling like the breath of a maiden in pure mist, the beginning of peace rose in his troubled mind, and he said within himself. “After a great storm comes calm. Let me now control my grief, remembering that the past returns no more than Rohini after she has flowed into the ocean. And as in the ocean drifting logs for awhile meet and touch and are then driven apart by the waves so is it with parents, wives, children and wealth. This is most true.” And when at noon he was weary and his feet torn with the strong thorns and hooks of jungle creepers he sat down to rest and the thought came. “Were I now in the sweet garden by Rohini how would my wife, soft-handed, gentle-voiced, weep to see these feet, with what cool dropping unguents would she staunch the blood, which now I have not so much as a rag to wipe away.”—— So, seeing this and waiting his opportunity Mara the Tempter—that One evil from of old, drew near through the shining trees, and whether he spoke within or without the heart of Siddhartha I cannot tell, but most certainly he spoke and his voice at first distant as the humming of ardent black bees about a flower became nearer, sweeter, subtle, until it sealed every sense to all but its meaning. And thus he said: