There, nearly a mile behind us,
we could see the ruined statue of Buddha seated in front of the ancient
monastery, and in that clear atmosphere could even distinguish the bent
form of our friend, the old abbot, Kou-en, leaning against it until we
were quite lost to sight. All the monks had wept when we parted from
them, and Kou-en even more bitterly than the rest, for he had learned to
love us.
"I am grieved," he said, "much grieved, which indeed I should not be,
for such emotion partakes of sin. Yet I find comfort, for I know well
that although I must soon leave this present life, yet we shall meet
again in many future incarnations, and after you have put away these
follies, together tread the path to perfect peace. Now take with you my
blessings and my prayers and begone, forgetting not that should you live
to return"--and he shook his head, doubtfully--"here you will be ever
welcome."
So we embraced him and went sorrowfully.
It will be remembered that when the mysterious light fell upon us on the
peak I had my compass with me and was able roughly to take its bearings.
For lack of any better guide we now followed these bearings, travelling
almost due north-east, for in that direction had shone the fire. All
day in the most beautiful weather we marched across the flower-strewn
desert, seeing nothing except bunches of game and one or two herds of
wild asses which had come down from the mountains to feed upon the new
grass.
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