She
continued to weep as I made a copy of the head. I confess I was not
impressed. The face was bearded and ugly. The new god was said to
have been as fair as the sun. And I told the woman this. She only
wept the more.
"If he were a god," I asked, "where are outward evidences?" She
became frantic.
"The real man!" she cried; "_this_ one died for the man he
betrayed," and again fell to lamenting. Seeing I could gain nothing
more from her, I left, wondering at the strange heretics I had
encountered. I went back to my country and after weaving this tale
and painting the head, there awaited the fifth Buddha, the
successor to Siddartha, whose coming has been predicted.
Arn's voice ceased. There was silence in the chamber. Then Effinghame
started up and fiercely growled:--
"What do _you_ make of it, Arn?"
"Isn't it clear enough? There's been a frightful error somewhere, one of
incalculable consequences. A tremendous act of heroism has been
committed by a man whose name has been universally execrated through the
ages.
Pages:
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345