His face might be stern, and even terrible, but I felt that he could never be unjust.
As I glanced from time to time at his noble profile and the sweep of his jet-black beard, his rough-spun tweed travelling suit struck me with an almost painful sense of incongruity, and I re-clothed him in my imagination with the grand, sweeping Oriental costume which is the fitting and proper frame for such a picture--the only garb which does not detract from the dignity and grace of the wearer.
The place to which he led me was a small fisher cottage which had been deserted some years before by its tenant, but still stood gaunt and bare, with the thatch partly blown away and the windows and doors in sad disrepair.

This dwelling, which the poorest Scotch beggar would have shrunk from, was the one which these singular men had preferred to the proffered hospitality of the laird's house.

A small garden, now a mass of tangled brambles, stood round it, and through this my acquaintance picked his way to the ruined door.

He glanced into the house and then waved his hand for me to follow him.
"You have now an opportunity," he said, in a subdued, reverential voice, "of seeing a spectacle which few Europeans have had the privilege of beholding.

Inside that cottage you will find two Yogis--men who are only one remove from the highest plane of adeptship.