renovating a sacred place. From innumerable shrines, uncounted Buddhas
looked out with the same long, contemplative eyes; in bronze, in jade,
in white and black marble, in grey stone and gilded ebony, the
passionless face of the great Peace looked out upon his children.

Near to where Coryndon and the Barrister stood together, in the
peach-coloured evening light, a large shrine with a fretted roof was
thronged with worshippers, and Coryndon stood on the steps and looked
in. The floor of black, polished marble dimly reflected the immense gold
pillars that supported a lofty ceiling, lost entirely in the gloom, and
before a blaze of candles and a floating veil of scented grey smoke a
priest bowed himself, and prayed in a low, chanting voice. The face of
the Lord Buddha behind the rails was lighted by the wind-blown flame of
many tapers, so that it almost looked as though he smiled out of his
far-away Nirvana upon his kneeling worshippers, who could ask nothing of
him, not even mercy, since the salvation of a man is in his own hands.

Before the rails, a settle with low gilt legs was covered with offerings
of flowers, that added their scent to the heavy air, and on a small
table a feast of cakes and sweets was placed, to be distributed later on
among the poor. Coryndon disposed of his burden of pink and white roses
and little magenta prayer-flags, and lighted a bundle of joss-sticks,
before they came out again and wandered on.

As the daylight faded the lights from the shrines and the small booths
grew stronger, and the rising night wind, coming in from the river, rang
the silver bells around the spires, filling the whole air with tinkling
sound, and the slow-moving crowd around them laughed and joked, like
people at a fair. His eyes still full of dreams, Coryndon followed with
them, keeping one small packet of amber candles to light in honour of