And he turned and went. But the old white-haired man followed him.
"Brother," he said, "you are not the first to come here, but you may be
the last. Go back to the plains, and tell the dwellers in the plains
that the Temple of True Knowledge is in their very midst; any one may
enter it who chooses, the gate is not even closed. The Temple has
always been in the plains, in the very heart of life, and work, and
daily effort. The philosopher may enter, the stone-breaker may enter.
You must have passed it every day of your life; a plain, venerable
building, unlike your glorious cathedrals."
"I have seen the children playing near it," said the Traveller. "When
I was a, child I used to play there. Ah, if I had only known! Well,
the past is the past."
He would have rested against a huge stone, but that the old white-haired
man prevented him.
"Do not rest," he said. "If you once rest there, you will not rise again.
When you once rest, you will know how weary you are."
"I have no wish to go farther," said the Traveller. "My journey is done;
it may have been in the wrong direction, but still it is done."
"Nay, do not linger here," urged the old man.
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