flickering with the silver of shoals of sacred fish.

But the Mogul Empire is with the snows of yesteryear and the
wonder has passed from the Moslems into the keeping of the Hindus
once more, and the Lingam of Shiva, crowned with flowers, is the
symbol in the little shrine by the entrance. Surely in India, the
gods are one and have no jealousies among them - so swiftly do
their glories merge the one into the other.

"How all the Mogul Emperors loved running water," said Vanna. "I
can see them leaning over it in their carved pavilions with
delicate dark faces and pensive eyes beneath their turbans, lost
in the endless reverie of the East while liquid melody passes
into their dream. It was the music they best loved."

She was leading me into the royal garden below, where the young
river flows beneath the pavilion set above and across the rush of
the water.

"I remember before I came to India," she went on, "there were
certain words and phrases that meant the whole East to me. It was
an enchantment. The. first flash picture I had was Milton's-

'Dark faces with white silken turbans wreathed.'

and it still is. I have thought ever since that every man should
wear a turban. It dignifies the un-comeliest and it is quite
curious to see how many inches a man descends in the scale of
beauty the moment he takes it off and you see only the skull-cap
about which they wind it. They wind it with wonderful skill too.