“Thou—thou durst tell this to me, the future Servitor of Atlantis and all her dependencies! Out upon thee and thy Brotherhood! I will not submit to thy decrees! Thou—thou hast made me believe in thy love. Is this the language of consideration? The Brotherhood demands all that I value in life! Thou sayest that I have not failed so far. Be assured that I shall succeed finally.” “Thou hast already developed the feminine principle within thee and hast assumed the flowing locks and robe, so that thy fellows may know thou art fit to lead them. My personal tutorship goes no farther. Thy future is distinctly in thine own hands, Yermah.” Akaza gave a soft reply, and his rash hot-headed companion was mollified. “Give thy tongue full license, Akaza. What does the Brotherhood require of its fellows?” Yermah was still the master of Tlamco. His tone and manner betrayed it. “Absolute freedom must be achieved before the candidate can enter the Gates of Light.” Akaza was quiet, but firm. “Freedom from what?” “From the enslavement of Desire. Man’s perverted love nature is the great stumbling block.” Yermah’s face was aflame in an instant. He was furiously angry. He turned toward Akaza with a threatening gesture, while his resentment was at flood tide. Then his arm fell aimlessly to his side. He realized that it was shocking to quarrel with his preceptor—his spiritual father—the man who had unselfishly followed him from one colony to another for the past seven years. The Dorado held his tongue, but with an impetuous fling of the cloak over his shoulder, he abruptly left the hierophant. They were on the beach opposite the present lifesaving station, and were coming back to the cave. With swift, swinging strides Yermah turned toward Tlamco, and was soon headed for the western gate of its walled enclosure. “I am not to make my love self-identifying,” he muttered savagely. “Am I, then, to love my ideal without desire for possession? He asks what I can not do. I should be no part of a man if I could submit like this! No! A thousand times—no!—I have tasted the wine of life on her sweet lips!—She shall claim a king’s ransom in return!—And this, he says, will imperil my soul!—So be it!—This is what love means to me!” There was that in Yermah which would brook no interference. Docility and obedience, both his habit and inclination, were routed completely by the whirlwind of resentment having control of him. Self made a strong rally, and, for a time, he was intoxicated with the idea of defying Akaza. He gloried in his ability to think and to act for himself. It was _his_ happiness, _his_ love, and in the future he would do as he pleased. This was instinct deeper than reason; not conscious lust nor sensuality—for he mentally idealized Kerœcia.