48 The story of this white phantom of Benares should not be considered a photograph but a lyrical intermezzo. Perhaps the lady I saw on the banks on the Ganges was not the same one I later saw in the temple that evening, but permit me to trace the outlines of a white, vaporous figure that appeared to me to be, in that Indian Rome, like an angel of religion drifting amid a vast, abandoned cemetery, like a winged spirit of the ideal, wending her way amid ruined tombs and crumbling temples, trying to rekindle the fires of an already dead faith [Author].