A little knot of Jain priests, silent but all-observant, gathered by the temple door.

They knew, and Kim knew that they knew, how the old lama had met his disciple.

Being courteous folk, they had not obtruded themselves overnight by presence, word, or gesture.

Wherefore Kim repaid them as the sun rose.
'Thank the Gods of the Jains, brother,' he said, not knowing how those Gods were named.

'The fever is indeed broken.' 'Look! See!' The lama beamed in the background upon his hosts of three years.