TIME being the panacea for most ills as we are told, so we may well regard custom as the panacea for most distastes. It is certain it proved a panacea for Peregrine’s. Active dislike being presently dulled to indifference, interest anon awakened.

You cannot long remain in the company of an ardent believer without receiving some touch of his beliefs, be they in God, the Devil, or himself. Menippus believed in the two last, more particularly in himself, being fully persuaded that while the Devil lent him some little aid he could most readily have dispensed with his services altogether, have relied entirely upon his own power. Doubtless the Devil, his master, being most politic, endorsed this theory, the while he laughed in his sleeve.

Peregrine, exceeding open to influences, sucked up the mental atmosphere around him as a sponge sucks up water. He had no notion of his own tendency. An’ he had, he might have been the better on his guard, though here a man’s own skill is of little avail, he needs truly to put on the armour of light, as the Scriptures have it.

Being permeated, then, with the atmosphere, he lost his distaste, found interest awakening. This latter was small wonder: an’ you had conquered dislike there is little doubt that attraction would follow. There was mystery enough in the Sage’s doings to stir curiosity, marvel enough to carry one forward, and a certain matter-of-fact exactitude, withal, which threw any hint of pure charlatanism aside, forced reality to the front, even while it brought dread with it.

At the first he merely instilled certain teachings. Here are some of them.

“Vibration,” he said, elaborating on the outline he had formerly given Peregrine, “is the first law to study. There is no single thing in the universe which does not emit vibrations,—matter, colour, light, and sound. To comprehend the whole riddle of life is but to attune oneself to the reception of these vibrations, and interpret them rightly. Like rushes to like. To make my meaning clearer, sound—the crash of a falling tree for example—emits vibrations to the ether. They travel across it till they reach some instrument attuned to receive them. Such is the normal human ear within a normal distance of the falling tree. The vibrations lessen in force the further they travel. Beyond a certain distance the physical ear is not sufficiently sensitive to receive them. But it is only on their reception by the instrument that the sound becomes interpreted in terms of fact. To an ear beyond the normal distance of sensing the vibrations, there would be no sound, because of the lack of its sensitiveness in receiving and recording them as they weaken. This would not prove their non-existence in the ether, but merely the defect in the instrument which might have received them. Have you followed me?”

Peregrine frowning somewhat, but not uninterested, made known that he had done so.

“Here,” quoth Menippus, “I have dealt with the merely physical and actual. This same question of vibration extends to our reception of the vibrations of form, light, and colour by the eye; of the vibrations of scent by the nostrils; more grossly to our reception of the vibrations of form and quality by the touch. Leaving the more material, we will pursue the matter further, dwell for a moment on thought. The vibrations of thought, though quicker, lighter, and therefore less easy of reception by the heavy and material vibrations of ordinary mortals, are yet infinitely more powerful, infinitely more enduring than the vibrations from material objects. I give it as my experience that the vibrations of a thought, strongly sent forth, can endure throughout the centuries. Hence it is that certain sensitized minds can receive the vibrations of thoughts of bygone ages. These they believe to be their own, having made, to their knowledge, no study of them as the thoughts of others.”

Here Peregrine, who had followed the argument closely enough, demurred. Having a brain of his own he now used it to some purpose.

“But,” he argued shrewdly, “if, as you say, all new thought as men hold it, is but the vibration of thought of bygone centuries, where will you allow the beginning of thought? Presumably at one time it must have been new.”

This one might have imagined a daunting question. To attempt to push it to a conclusion in accord with the views Menippus had just set forth would mean a staggering delving into infinite Æons of time before which the finite brain might well reel.

Yet Menippus had his reply ready.

“All thought is but one expression of the Universal Mind, which has known no beginning, and will know no ending,” he remarked gravely.

Peregrine was silent. He found himself neither sufficient theologian, philosopher, or scholar to gainsay this vast statement. In a sense he saw it might be truth, yet found it in a manner vaguely distorted by the mirror of speech in which it was reflected by Menippus. He ventured on another query.

“How an’ the thought be evil?” he demanded.

“Rightly speaking,” returned Menippus, “there is no evil. All vibration flows in harmony from the Universal Mind. The imperfect or wrongful reception of those vibrations by the material vibrations of man, sets up discord. This men term evil, and believe therefore that evil vibrations have flowed from without towards them, rather than recognizing that the fault lies in themselves. Those who attune themselves rightly can receive the whole stored up thought and knowledge of the centuries. This is wisdom, and wisdom is power.”

Here was the mere jargon of his trade. It is true there were some who believed this doctrine they preached. Excellent sounding, and none too easily refuted, it had deceived more questioners than Peregrine. Yet it is very certain that Menippus, though he had it ready enough on his tongue, held it not in his mind. Frankly, he saw two powers in the universe, or better speaking three, since I have shown you in what estimation he held his own. An’ the matter be put plainly, he had sought to make the other two subservient to his. This, in the one case, meant deliberate warfare, finally sheer ignoring; in the other, he saw himself victor and master, recognized not at all that he was slave.

Here was the beginning of his teaching. Later he led him further, gave him in outline some inkling of the founding of the Order of Lux. For what it is worth I set it forth here.

The Order, so said Menippus, was of great antiquity. It was founded by three Egyptian Seers, psychics of much power. For the space of nine moons they had sojourned in the desert, food and water being brought to them by messengers. They spoke to none save each other. Now at the ninth month, at the full of the moon, they saw the Sign of the Triangle in the Heavens, and the three stood in a circle, making the Sign of the Triangle each with his own hand and that of his neighbour, thumb to thumb, and forefinger to forefinger. And the names of the three who did this were Pharos, Zadkiel, and Ramah. And above the Triangle they saw the Lotus Flower, and above the Lotus Flower the Sign of Triple Power; while the whole was backgrounded by the Sign of the Rising Sun, though it was yet moonlight when they looked on these signs. And they heard, so says the legend, a Voice speaking to the three, which bade them return to the Inner Temple, and in seven weeks the seven rules of the novitiate should be made known to them, for each week a rule. And in seven months should the seven rules of the brotherhood be made known to them, for each month a rule. And in seven years should the seven rules of the priesthood be made known to them, for each year a rule. Thus in seven years, seven months, and seven weeks from the first seeing of the Sign, was the Order of Lux perfected. And the three cast lots as to who should be chiefest among them, for they were all three of a royal house. The lot fell upon Zadkiel. Then he entered into the silence for seven days, and the seven rules of the High Priest were made known to him, for each day a rule. Now, none but the High Priest and one other know these seven rules: the High Priest tells them to his successor. But lest there should fall mischance of the death of both, and for fear lest the rules be lost, they have been written, and placed in a casket kept in the innermost Sanctuary of the Temple, and the High Priest alone possesses the key of this casket.

Now here is a further matter which is somewhat strange. Though the Order is the Order of Lux, and its chief symbol is the Rising Sun, the Temple where the casket lay was the Temple of the Moon, in the plains of furthest Egypt. Here the Moon Ritual was performed by the Ancients each month.

All this Menippus told Peregrine. Further, he told him that one night at the full of the moon he should see the ritual as it was performed by those ancient priests, and, moreover, see the priests themselves. At this you may well believe Peregrine found himself somewhat incredulous; but it is certain that later his incredulity was shaken.