and lost in meditation; at intervals, one and another of these rising, and without even a look round, moving quietly away in the direction of the common though as yet invisible goal—all this wore an air of quiet elevation, and seemed to bear witness that here events were taking place of so unusual, indeed, of so sacred a character, that no power on earth might dare place itself in opposition to them, ay, that love itself, if it should raise a hostile voice, would lose its every divine right.
So I moved resolutely forward, and the words addressed to Angulimala by the Master concerning the many generations of men who live and pass away without a Buddha's being in the world, and of the very few even among the contemporaries of a Buddha to whom it is given to hear and to see him—these words sounded in my ears like the ringing of a temple bell, and I felt myself like a favoured once who goes to meet an experience which coming generations will envy her.
When we reached the glade in which the temple ruin stands, a great many people were already assembled, laymen as well as monks. They stood broken up into groups, most of them in the vicinity of the ruin, which rose just opposite to us. Near to the spot where we entered the forest meadow, I noticed a fairly large group of monks, among whom it was impossible to help noticing one who was a very giant, for he towered a full head above the tallest of those who stood beside him.
Then, while we were looking about us to discover whither we could most fitly turn our steps, there came out of the forest, between us and those monks, an old ascetic. His tall figure had such a kingly bearing, and such a cheerful peace radiated from his noble features, that at once the
