tell WHY they must be--that man is not welcome--no!

Therefore it is that men have grown chary of giving testimony
upon mysteries. Yet knowing each in his own heart
the truth of that vision he has himself beheld, lo, it is
that in whose reality he most believes.

The spot where I had encamped was of a singular
beauty; so beautiful that it caught the throat and set an
ache within the breast--until from it a tranquillity distilled
that was like healing mist.

Since early March I had been wandering. It was now
mid-July. And for the first time since my pilgrimage had
begun I drank--not of forgetfulness, for that could never
be--but of anodyne for a sorrow which had held fast
upon me since my return from the Carolines a year before.

No need to dwell here upon that--it has been written.
Nor shall I recite the reasons for my restlessness--for
these are known to those who have read that history of
mine. Nor is there cause to set forth at length the steps
by which I had arrived at this vale of peace.

Sufficient is to tell that in New York one night, reading
over what is perhaps the most sensational of my books--
"The Poppies and Primulas of Southern Tibet," the result
of my travels of 1910-1911, I determined to return to that
quiet, forbidden land. There, if anywhere, might I find
something akin to forgetting.