It had needed the pure soul of a good woman
to unlock the best from his own; it had needed the genius of a clear
brain to harness the untrained faculties to some definite aim. The
soul of a woman had come and had planted upon him the purity of her
high ideal; the genius had already shot its first illuminating ray
into his darkness. Henceforth the watchword for them all was to be
"Forward," and Nehal Singh, standing like a white ghost in the
deserted compound, shaken by the force of his own emotions,
intoxicated by his own happiness and the shining future which spread
itself before his eyes, sent up a prayer such as rarely ascends from
earth to Heaven. To whom? Not to Brahma. His mind had burst like a
raging tide over the flood-gates of caste and creed and embraced the
whole world and the one God who has no name, no creed, no dogma, but
whom in that moment he recognized in great thanksgiving as the
Universal Father.
Thus far had Nehal Singh traveled in two short weeks--guided by a
woman who had no God and a man who had no God save his own ends. But
he did not know this. As he began to pace slowly backward and forward,
listening to the distant music, he thought of her, and measured
himself with her ideal in a humility which did not reject hope. One
day he would be able to stand before her and say, "Thus far have I
worked and striven for inner worth and for the good of my brothers. I
have kept myself pure and honest, I have cultivated in myself the best
I have, and have been inexorable against the evil.
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