It was thought that in no long time the winds and the waves would destroy the little ship with its lonely voyager; yet with stout heart, knowing that he might not return alone, he held on fearless and determined. Sometimes it seems that those who so follow the voice of their inner wisdom in dauntless courage are helped by nature, as though she ever loves such brave hearts. I have heard the story told how the great Columbus who found a new world was beset by his followers to return. How nature sent him messages that he was nearing land—birds and driftwood, branches of trees and floating weed. He read the message with the eyes of one who loves all nature well, and promised sight of land to his men in three days, a promise that was fulfilled. So it was that the little ship with the one who remained faithful did a greater work than ever those desired who sent it. Slowly, slowly, in the Temple, it came about that the guardians forgot their duty, forgot that they were there to guard the temple in sacred trust for humanity; and as the wicked ones among them wished, they busied themselves about many things; but not the one thing needful, the welfare and the progress of mankind. How can the tale be told? A tale that is new, yet old—old beyond count of years. For the enemies of the world, with whom those wicked ones were leagued, came suddenly by night, when the sacred lamp which sent rays of hope over the great ocean was allowed to flicker and to go out. And those enemies destroyed the temple so that scarcely one stone remained upon another. And with it were destroyed those weak ones who failed in their trust. All perished and with them perished for a time the Light of the World. XIII It is said, how truly I know not, that beneath the foundation pillars of the temple was wisely prepared by Eline a vault, a vast cave wherein were hidden the most sacred records of the temple and the sacred secret name which they had forgotten. To her over the sea came the knowledge of the faithless guard, and in her agony she called upon that sacred name if by chance the temple should be saved. In days of old men knew that there is a power in words, a power now forgotten. Stories there are which tell of city walls falling at a trumpet blast, of cities rising as if by magic at a word, of mighty doors thrown open, of nature spellbound by a song, of mighty names the jinns and genii of the desert obey.