But scarcely had his glance rested upon her than the heavily built man who sat beside her, rose agitatedly and stepped forward to the sanctuary.

For a space he stood staring at the scarred skin from which the symbol of his creed stood forth as if miraculously branded; then he turned to the congregation, his prominent eyes burning, his heavy face working with emotion.
"Brethren," he said, inarticulately.

"Brethren, it is indeed the Sign!" But the Prophet remained motionless.
"Where are the other five ?" he asked, in a level voice.
Almost simultaneously four men rose from the congregation and came forward.

One was tall and gaunt, with a Slavonic type of face, wild eyes, and a long, fair beard; another was young--scarcely more than seven and twenty--with the free carriage, fiery glance, and swarthy complexion of the nomadic races of southeastern Europe; the third was a small, frail man of fifty, with a nervous system painfully in advance of his physical strength; while the fourth was a true mystic--impassioned, enthusiastic, detached.

One by one these men advanced, examined the scars, and turning to the people, confirmed the words of their fellow.
Then, amid a tremulous hush, the last of the six--the Arch-Councillor himself--was led up the aisle.
For an instant the glimmering of some new feeling crossed the Prophet's face, as his glance rested on the old man who slowly approached with feeble steps, bent back, and anxious, sightless eyes.