intimate knowledge of these persons, the world is not in position to judge them accurately, if you will pardon my saying so. I have mentioned that the Rishees did sometimes live for a while in towns and moved in society. In olden times, when that was a little more frequent, their wisdom, power and attainment became obvious to the public; their influence was then openly acknowledged. Even Maharajahs did not disdain to pay reverent homage to these great sages and to consult them for guidance in their policies. But as a matter of fact, it is certain that the Rishees prefer to exert their influence in a silent and unknown manner.”

“Well, I would like to meet such men,” I mutter, half to myself. “And I should certainly like to encounter some real Yogis.”

“You shall do so one day, without a doubt,” he assured me.

“How do you know that?” I ask, somewhat startled.

“I knew it that day we first met,” is the astonishing answer.

“It came to me as an intuition—does it matter what you call it?—as a message deeply felt but inexplicable by outward evidences. My master taught me how to train this feeling, to develop it. Now, I have learned to trust it implicitly.”

“A modern Socrates guided by his daemon!” I remark half-jocosely. “But tell me, when do you think your prophecy will come true?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

“I am not a prophet. So I regret that I cannot date the event for you.”

I do not press him, though I suspect he could say more if he would. I meditate upon the matter and then offer a suggestion.

“I suppose you will return to your own country eventually. If I am ready at the time, could we not travel together? Would you not help me locate some of these men we have been discussing?”

“No, my friend. Go alone. It will be better that you do your own finding.”

“It will be so difficult for a stranger,” I complain.