He sat staring at the words, conscious--despite his better sense--of a compulsion, almost of fear. For why had this claim of authority been made now? Wherefore should the _guru_--that is, the spiritual adviser of his family--desire to see him? The answer was but too plain; he must already know of that stolen visit Chris had made to his mother's house; a visit which, should one, who was her spiritual guide also, choose to proclaim it, might bring endless trouble, vexation, disgrace upon her. Chris stood up, inwardly cursing his own recklessness. He might, he told himself, have known that priestly spies would be about him after that incident of the bathing-steps. He ought not to have gone; not at least as he _had_ gone, leaving his mother still in her fond belief that he had done, or was willing to do, the necessary penance. Yet without that belief-strengthened as it had been by his repeated requests for secrecy in the present--she would not have received him as she had. And Naraini---- Plainly he must obey the order, and so find out what was wanted, what was threatened. He rose therefore and went out into the cool grey dawn. The arcaded courtyard recessed about a cluster of temples, where Swâmi Viseshwar Nâth taught his disciples, was empty as yet when Chris reached it, save for half a dozen figures scarce distinguishable from the one which had summoned him. All, in these early hours, were busy over ceremonials of sorts; but all looked up at the newcomer with that dull disapproval. 'The _guru_ is within,' said one sullenly. Chris did not need direction. Had he not learned the precious shibboleths of his twice-born race yonder at the master's feet? 'So thou hast come, Krishn. Take thy seat, pupil, and listen,' came a voice. It was almost dark in the slip of a room behind the arcades, but Chris could see, by the help of memory, the unmovable figure, the placid face with its wide thin lips. He saw in a flash, also, everything that had ever happened to him in this, his earliest school, and the old awe that comes with such memories fell on him as he obeyed. 'There is no need,' continued the voice, 'to tell thee that I know what thou wouldest rather I did not know. Neither canst thou pretend ignorance of what such knowledge means. Therefore, Krishn, there is naught to say but this. What art thou about to do?' Chris had been asking himself the question, but he resented its being put to him. 'That depends,' he was beginning, when the Swâmi stopped him by laying an impassive hand on his wrist.