THE LITTLE PILGRIM:

 Further Experiences

 By Margaret O. (Wilson) Oliphant

I. 

THE LITTLE PILGRIM IN THE SEEN AND UNSEEN. 

The little Pilgrim, whose story has been told in another place, and whohad arrived but lately on the other side, among those who know troubleand sorrow no more, was one whose heart was always full of pity for thesuffering. And after the first rapture of her arrival, and of the blessedwork which had been given to her to do, and all the wonderful things shehad learned of the new life, there returned to her in the midst of herhappiness so many questions and longing thoughts that They were touchedby them who have the care of the younger brethren, the simple ones ofheaven. These questions did not disturb her peace or joy, for she knewthat which is so often veiled on earth, --that all is accomplished by thewill of the Father, and that nothing can happen but according to Hisappointment and under His care. And she was also aware that the endis as the beginning to Him who knows all, and that nothing is lost thatis in His hand. But though she would herself have willingly borne thesufferings of earth ten times over for the sake of all that was now hers, yet it pierced her soul to think of those who were struggling indarkness, and whose hearts were stifled within them by all the bitternessof the mortal life. Sometimes she would be ready to cry out with wonderthat the Lord did not hasten His steps and go down again upon the earthto make all plain; or how the Father himself could restrain His power, and did not send down ten legions of angels to make all that was wrongright, and turn all that was mournful into joy. 

'It is but for a little time, ' said her companions. 'When we have reachedthis place we remember no more the anguish. ' 'But to them in theirtrouble it does not seem a little time, ' the Pilgrim said. And in herheart there rose a great longing. Oh that He would send me! that I mighttell my brethren, --not like the poor man in the land of darkness, of thegloom and misery of that distant place, but a happier message, of thelight and brightness of this, and how soon all pain would be over. Shewould not put this into a prayer, for she knew that to refuse a prayeris pain to the Father, if in His great glory any pain can be. And thenshe reasoned with herself and said, 'What can I tell them, except thatall will soon be well? and this they know, for our Lord has said it; butI am like them, and I do not understand. '

One fair morning while she turned over these thoughts in her mind theresuddenly came towards her one whom she knew as a sage, of the number ofthose who know many mysteries and search into the deep things of theFather. For a moment she wondered if perhaps he came to reprove her fortoo many questionings, and rose up and advanced a little towards him withfolded hands and a thankful heart, to receive the reproof if it should beso, --for whether it were praise or whether it were blame, it was from theFather, and a great honor and happiness to receive. But as he cametowards her he smiled and bade her not to fear. 'I am come, ' he said, 'totell you some things you long to know, and to show you some things thatare hidden to most. Little sister, you are not to be charged with anymission--'

'Oh, no, ' she said, 'oh, no. I was not so presuming--'

'It is not presuming to wish to carry comfort to any soul; but it ispermitted to me to open up to you, so far as I may, some of the secrets. The secrets of the Father are all beautiful, but there is sorrow in themas well as joy; and Pain, you know, is one of the great angels at thedoor. '

'Is his name Pain? and I took him for Consolation!' the little Pilgrimsaid. 

'He is not Consolation; he is the schoolmaster whose face is often stern. But I did not come to tell you of him whom you know; I am going to takeyou--back, ' the wise man said. 

'Back!' She knew what this meant, and a great pleasure, yet mingled withfear, came into her mind. She hesitated, and looked at him, and did notknow how to accept, though she longed to do so, for at the same time shewas afraid. He smiled when he saw the alarm in her face. 

'Do you think, ' he said, 'that you are to go this journey on your owncharges? Had you insisted, as some do, to go at all hazards, you mightindeed have feared. And even now I cannot promise that you will not feelthe thorns of the earth as you pass; but you will be cared for, so thatno harm can come. '

'Ah, ' she said wistfully, 'it is not for harm--' and could say nothingmore. 

He laid his hand upon her arm, and he said, 'Do not fear; though they seeyou not, it is yet sweet for a moment to be there, and as you pass, itbrings thoughts of you to their minds. '

For these two understood each other, and knew that to see and yet not beseen is only a pleasure for those who are most like the Father, and canlove without thought of love in return. 

When he touched her, it seemed to the little Pilgrim suddenly thateverything changed round her, and that she was no longer in her ownplace, but walking along a weary length of road. It was narrow and rough, and the skies were dim; and as she went on by the side of her guide shesaw houses and gardens which were to her like the houses that childrenbuild, and the little gardens in which they sow seeds and plant flowers, and take them up again to see if they are growing. She turned to theSage, saying, 'What are--?' and then stopped and gazed again, and burstout into something that was between laughing and tears. 'For it is home, 'she cried, 'and I did not know it! dear home!' Her heart was remorseful, as if she had wounded the little diminished place. 

'This is what happens with those who have been living in the king'spalaces, ' he said with a smile. 

'But I love it dearly, I love it dearly!' the little Pilgrim said, stretching out her hands as if for pardon. He smiled at her, consolingher; and then his face changed and grew very grave. 

'Little sister, ' he said, 'you have come not to see happiness but pain. We want no explanation of the joy, for that flows freely from the heartof the Father, and all is clear between us and Him; but that which youdesire to know is why trouble should be. Therefore you must think of Himand be strong, for here is what will rend your heart. '

The little Pilgrim was seized once more with mortal fear. 'O friend, ' shecried, 'I have done with pain. Must I go and see others suffering and donothing for them?'

'If anything comes into your heart to do or say, it will be well forthem, ' the Sage replied: and he took her by the hand and led her into ahouse she knew. She began to know them all now, as her vision becameaccustomed to the atmosphere of the earth. She perceived that the sun wasshining, though it had appeared so dim, and that it was a clear summermorning, very early, with still the colors of the dawn in the east. Whenshe went indoors, at first she saw nothing, for the room was darkened, the windows all closed, and a miserable watch-light only burning. In thebed there lay a child whom she knew. She knew them all, --the mother atthe bedside, the father near the door, even the nurse who was flittingabout disturbing the silence. Her heart gave a great throb when sherecognized them all; and though she had been glad for the first moment tothink that she had come just in time to give welcome to a little brotherstepping out of earth into the better country, a shadow of trouble andpain enveloped her when she saw the others and remembered and knew. Forhe was their beloved child; on all the earth there was nothing they heldso dear. They would have given up their home and all they possessed, andbecome poor and homeless and wanderers with joy, if God, as they said, would have but spared their child. She saw into their hearts and read allthis there; and knowing them, she knew it without even that insight. Everything they would have given up and rejoiced, if but they might havekept him. And there he lay, and was about to die. The little Pilgrimforgot all but the pity of it, and their hearts that were breaking, andthe vacant place that was soon to be. She cried out aloud upon the Fatherwith a great cry. She forgot that it was a grief to Him in His greatglory to refuse. 

There came no reply; but the room grew light as with a reflection out ofheaven, and the child in the bed, who had been moving restlessly in theweariness of ending life, turned his head towards her, and his eyesopened wide, and he saw her where she stood. He cried out, 'Look! mother, mother!' The mother, who was on her knees by the bedside, lifted her headand cried, 'What is it, what is it, O my darling?' and the father, whohad turned away his face not to see the child die, came nearer to thebed, hoping they knew not what. Their faces were paler than the face ofthe dying, upon which there was light; but no light came to them out ofthe hidden heaven. 'Look! she has come for me, ' he said; but his voicewas so weak they could not hear him, nor take any comfort. At this thelittle Pilgrim put out her arms to him, forgetting in her joy the poorpeople who were mourning, and cried out, 'Oh, but I must go with him! Imust take him home!' For this was her own work, and she thought of herwonderings and her questions no more. 

Some one touched her on the shoulder, and she looked round; and behindher was a great company of the dear children from the better country, whom the Father had sent, and not her, --lest he should grieve for thosehe had left behind, --to come for the child and show him the way. Shepaused for a moment, scarcely willing to give him up; but then hercompanion touched her and pointed to the other side. Ah, that wasdifferent! The mother lay by the side of the bed, her face turned only tothe little white body which her child had dropped from him as he came outof his sickness, --her eyes wild with misery, without tears; her feverishmouth open, but no cry in it. The sword of the angel had gone through andthrough her. She did not even writhe upon it, but lay motionless, cutdown, dumb with anguish. The father had turned round again and leaned hishead upon the wall. All was over, --all over! The love and the hope of adozen lovely years, the little sweet companion, the daily joy, the futuretrust--all--over--as if a child had never been born. Then there rose inthe stillness a great and exceeding bitter cry, 'God!' that was all, pealing up to heaven, to the Father, whom they could not see in theiranguish, accusing Him, reproaching Him who had done it. Was He theirenemy that He had done it? No man was ever so wicked, ever so cruel buthe would have spared them their boy, --taken everything and spared themtheir boy; but God, God! The little Pilgrim stood by and wept. She coulddo nothing but weep, weep, her heart aching with the pity and theanguish. How were they to be told that it was not God, but the Father;that God was only His common name, His name in law, and that He was theFather. This was all she could think of; she had not a word to say. Andthe boy had shaken his little bright soul out of the sickness and theweakness with such a look of delight! He knew in a moment! But they--oh, when, when would they know?

Presently she sat outside in the soft breathing airs and little morningbreezes, and dried her aching eyes. And the Sage who was her companionsoothed her with kind words. 'I said you would feel the thorns as youpassed, ' he said. 'We cannot be free of them, we who are of mankind. '

'But oh, ' she cried amid her tears, 'why, --why? The air of the earth isin my eyes, I cannot see. Oh, what pain it is, what misery! Was itbecause they loved him too much, and that he drew their hearts away?'

The Sage only shook his head at her, smiling. 'Can one love too much?' hesaid. 

'O brother, it is very hard to live and to see another--I am confused inmy mind, ' said the little Pilgrim, putting her hand to her eyes. 'Thetears of those that weep have got into my soul. To live and see anotherdie, --that was what I was saying; but the child lives like you and me. Tell me, for I am confused in my mind. '

'Listen!' said the Sage; and when she listened she heard the sound of thechildren going back with a great murmur and ringing of pleasant voiceslike silver bells in the air, and among them the voice of the childasking a thousand questions, calling them by their names. The twopilgrims listened and laughed to each other for love at the sound of thechildren. 'Is it for the little brother that you are troubled?' the Sagesaid in her ear. 

Then she was ashamed, and turned from the joyful sounds that wereascending ever higher and higher to the little house that stood below, with all its windows closed upon the light. It was wrapped in darknessthough the sun was shining, the windows closed as if they never wouldopen more, and the people within turning their faces to the wall, covering their eyes that they might not see the light of day. 'Omiserable day!' they were saying; 'O dark hour! O life that will neversmile again!' She sat between earth and heaven, her eyes smiling, but hermouth beginning to quiver once more. 'Is it to raise their thoughts andtheir hearts?' she said. 

'Little sister, ' said he, 'when the Father speaks to you, it is not forme nor for another that He speaks. And what He says to you is--' 'Ah, 'said the little Pilgrim, with joy, 'it is for myself, myself alone! As ifI were a great angel, as if I were a saint. It drops into my heart likethe dew. It is what I need, not for you, though I love you, but for meonly. It is my secret between me and Him. '

Her companion bowed his head. 'It is so. And thus has He spoken to thelittle child. But what He said or why He said it, is not for you or me toknow. It is His secret; it is between the little one and his Father. Whocan interfere between these two? Many and many are there born on earthwhose work and whose life are ordained elsewhere, --for there is no way ofentrance into the race of man which is the nature of the Lord, but by thegates of birth; and the work which the Father has to do is so great andmanifold that there are multitudes who do but pass through those gates toascend to their work elsewhere. But the Father alone knows whom he haschosen. It is between the child and Him. It is their secret; it is as youhave said. '

The little Pilgrim was silent for a moment, but then turned her head fromthe bright shining of the skies and the voices of the children whichfloated farther and farther off, and looked at the house in which therewas sorrow and despair. She pointed towards it, and looked at him who washer instructor, and had come to show her how these things were. 

'They are to blame, ' he said; 'but none will blame them. The little lifeis hard. The Father, though He is very near, seems far off; and sometimeseven His word is as a dream. It is to them as if they had lost theirchild. Can you not remember?--that was what we said. We have lost--'

Then the little Pilgrim, musing, began to smile, but wept again as shethought of the father and the mother. 'If we were to go, ' she said, 'handin hand, you and I, and tell them that the Father had need of him, thatit was not for the little life but for the great and beautiful worldabove that the child was born; and that he had got great promotion andwas gone with the princes and the angels according as was ordained?And why should they mourn? Let us go and tell them--'

He shook his head. 'They could not see us; they would not know us. Weshould be to them as dreams. If they do not take comfort from our Lord, how could they take comfort from you and me? We could not bring them backtheir child. They want their child, not only to know that all is wellwith him, --for they know that all is well with him, --but what they wantis their child. They are to blame; but who shall blame them? Not any onethat is born of woman. How can we tell them what is the Father's secretand the child's?'

'And yet we could tell them why it must be so?' said the little Pilgrim. 'For they prayed and besought the Lord. O brother, I have nounderstanding. For the Lord said, "Ask, and it shall be given you;" andthey asked, yet they are refused. '

'Little sister, the Father must judge between His children; and he mustfirst be heard who is most concerned. While they were praying, the Fatherand the child talked together and said what we know not; but this weknow, that his heart was satisfied with that which was said to him. Mustnot the Father do what is best for the child He loves, whatever the otherchildren may say? Nay, did not our own fathers do this on earth, and wesubmitted to them; how much more He who sees all?'

The little Pilgrim stole softly from his side when he had done speaking, and went back into the darkened house, and saw the mother where she satweeping and refusing to be comforted, in her sorrow perceiving not heavennor any consolation, nor understanding that her child had gone joyfullyto his Father and her Father, as his soul had required, and as the Lordhad willed. Yet though she had not joy but only anguish in her faith, andthough her eyes were darkened that she could not see, yet the womanceased not to call upon God, God, and to hold by Him who had smitten her. And the father of the child had gone into his chamber and shut the door, and sat dumb, opening not his mouth, thinking upon his delightsome boy, and how they had walked together and talked together, and should do soagain nevermore. And in their hearts they reproached their God, the giverof all, and accused the Lord to His face, as if He had deceived them, yetclung to Him still, weeping and upbraiding, and would not let Him go. Thelittle Pilgrim wept too, and said many things to them which they couldnot hear. But when she saw that though they were in darkness and misery, God was in all their thoughts, she bethought herself suddenly of what thepoet had said in the celestial city, and of the songs he sang, which werea wonder to the Angels and Powers, of the little life and the sorrowfulearth, where men endured all things, yet overcame by the name of theLord. When this came into her mind, she rose up again softly with asacred awe, and wept not, but did them reverence; for without any lightor guidance in their anguish they yet wavered not, died not, but endured, and in the end would overcome. It seemed to her that she saw the greatbeautiful angels looking on, the great souls that are called to love andto serve, but not to suffer like the little brethren of the earth; andthat among the princes of heaven there was reverence and awe, and evenenvy of those who thus had their garments bathed in blood, and sufferedloss and pain and misery, yet never abandoned their life and the workthat had been given them to do. 

As she came forth again comforted, she found the Sage standing with hisface lifted to heaven, smiling still at the sound, though faint anddistant, of the children all calling to each other and shouting togetheras they reached the gate. 'Oh, hush!' she said; 'let not the mother hearthem! for it will make her heart more bitter to think she can never hearagain her child's voice. '

'But it is her child's voice, ' he said; then very gently, 'they are toblame; but no one will be found to blame them either in earth or heaven. '

The earth pilgrims went far after this, yet more softly than when theyfirst left their beautiful country, --for then the little Pilgrim had beenglad, believing that as all had been made clear to her in her own life, so that all that concerned the life of man should be made clear; but thiswas more hard and encompassed with pain and darkness, as that which is inthe doing is always more hard to understand than that which isaccomplished. And she learned now what she had not understood, though hercompanion warned her, how sharp are those thorns of earth that pierce thewayfarer's foot, and that those who come back cannot help but sufferbecause of love and fellow-feeling. And she learned that though she couldsmile and give thanks to the Father in the recollection of her own griefsthat were past, yet those that are present are too poignant, and to lookupon others in their hour of darkness makes His ways more hard tocomprehend than even when the sorrow is your own. 

While she mused thus, there was suddenly revealed to her another sight. They had gone far before they came to this new scene. Night had creptover the skies all gray and dark; and the sea came in with a whisperwhich sounded to some like the hush of peace, and to some like the voiceof sorrow and moaning, and to some was but the monotony of endlessrecurrence, in which was no soul. The skies were dark overhead, butopened with a clear shining of light which had no color, towards thewest, --for the sun had long gone down, and it was night. The twotravellers perceived a woman who came out of a house all lit with lampsand firelight, and took the lonely path towards the sea. And the littlePilgrim knew her, as she had known the father and mother in the darkenedhouse, and would have joined her with a cry of pleasure; but sheremembered that the friend could not see her or hear her, being wrappedstill in the mortal body, and in a close enveloping mantle of thoughtsand cares. The Sage made her a sign to follow, and these two tendercompanions accompanied her who saw them not, walking darkling by thesilent way. The heart of the woman was heavy in her breast. It was sosore by reason of trouble, and for all the bitter wounds of the past, andall the fears that beset her life to come, that she walked, not weepingbecause of being beyond tears, but as it were bleeding, her thoughtsbeing in her little way like those of His upon whose brow there oncestood drops as it were of blood; and out of her heart there came amoaning which was without words. If words had been possible, they wouldhave been as His also, who said, 'Father, forgive them, for they know notwhat they do. ' For those who had wounded her were those whom in all theworld she loved most dear; and the quivering of anguish was in her as shewalked, seeking the darkness and the silence, and to hide herself, ifthat might be, from her own thoughts. She went along the lonely path withthe stinging of her wounds so keen and sharp that all her body and soulwere as one pain. Greater grief hath no man than this, to be slain andtortured by those whom he loves. When her soul could speak, this was whatit said 'Father, forgive them! Father, save them!' She had no strengthfor more. 

This the heavenly pilgrims saw, --for they stood by her as in their owncountry, where every thought is clear, and saw her heart. But as theyfollowed her and looked into her soul--with their hearts, which werehuman too, wrung at the sight of hers in its anguish--there suddenlybecame visible before them a strange sight such as they had never seenbefore. It was like the rising of the sun; but it was not the sun. Suddenly into the heart upon which they looked there came a great silenceand calm. There was nothing said that even they could hear, nor done thatthey could see; but for a moment the throbbing was stilled, and theanguish calmed, and there came a great peace. The woman in whom thiswonder was wrought was astonished, as they were. She gave a low cry inthe darkness for wonder that the pain had gone from her in an instant, inthe twinkling of an eye. There was no promise made to her that her prayerwould be granted, and no new light given to guide her for the time tocome; but her pain was taken away. She stood hushed, and lifted her eyes;and the gray of the sea, and the low cloud that was like a canopy above, and the lightening of colorless light towards the west, entered withtheir great quiet into her heart. 'Is this the peace that passeth allunderstanding?' she said to herself, confused with the sudden calm. Inall her life it had never so happened to her before, --to be healed of hergrievous wounds, yet without cause; and while no change was wrought, yetto be put to rest. 

'It is our Brother, ' said the little Pilgrim, shedding tears of joy. 'Itis the secret of the Lord, ' said the Sage; but not even they had seen Himpassing by. 

They walked with her softly in the silence, in the sound of the sea, tillthe wonder in her was hushed like the pain, and talked with her, thoughshe knew it not. For very soon questions arose in her heart. 'And oh, 'she said, 'is this the Lord's reply?' with thankfulness and awe; butbecause she was human, and knew so little, and was full of impatience, 'Oh, and is this _all_?' was what she next said. 'I asked for _them_, andThou hast given to _me_--' then the voice of her heart grew louder, andshe cried, with the sound of the pain coming back, 'I ask one thing, andThou givest another. I asked no blessing for me. I asked for them, myLord, my God. Give it to them--to them!' with disappointment rising inher heart. The little Pilgrim laid her hand upon the woman's arm, --forshe was afraid lest our Lord might be displeased, forgetting (for she wasstill imperfect) that He sees all that is in the soul, and understandsand takes no offence, --and said quickly, 'Oh, be not afraid; He will savethem too. The blessing will come for them too. '

'At His own time, ' said the Sage, 'and in His own way. '

These thoughts rose in the woman's soul. She did not know that they weresaid to her, nor who said them, but accepted them as if they had comefrom her own thoughts. For she said to herself, 'This is what is meant bythe answer of prayer. It is not what we ask; yet what I ask is accordingto Thy will, my Lord. It is not riches, nor honors, nor beauty, norhealth, nor long life, nor anything of this world. If I have beenimpatient, this is my punishment, --that the Lord has thought, not ofthem, but of me. But I can bear all, O my Lord! that and a thousand timesmore, if Thou wilt but think of them and not of me!'

Nevertheless she returned to her home stilled and comforted; for thoughher trouble returned to her and was not changed, yet for a moment ithad been lifted from her, and the peace which passeth all understandinghad entered her heart. 

'But why, then, ' said the little Pilgrim to her companion, when thefriend was gone, 'why will not the Father give to her what she asks? forI know what it is. It is that those whom she loves should love Him andserve Him; and that is His will too, for He would have all love Him, Hewho loves all. '

'Little sister, ' said her companion, 'you asked me why He did not let thechild remain upon the earth. '

'Ah, but that is different, ' she cried; 'oh, it is different! When yousaid that the secret was between the child and the Father I knew thatit was so; for it is just that the Father should consider us first oneby one, and do for us what is best. But it is always best to serve Him. It is best to love him; it is best to give up all the world and cleaveto Him, and follow wherever He goes. No man can say otherwise thanthis, --that to follow the Lord and serve Him, that is well for all, andalways the best!'

She spoke so hotly and hastily that her companion could find no room forreply. But he was in no haste; he waited till she had said what was inher heart. Then he replied, 'If it were even so, if the Father heard allprayers, and put forth His hand and forced those who were far off to comenear--'

The little Pilgrim looked up with horror in her face, as if he hadblasphemed, and said, 'Forced! not so; not so!'

'Yet it must be so, ' he said, 'if it is against their desire and will. '

'Oh, not so; not so!' she cried, 'but that He should change theirhearts. '

'Yet that too against their will, ' he said. 

The little Pilgrim paused upon the way; and her heart rose against hercompanion, who spoke things so hard to be received, and that seemed todishonor the work of the Lord. But she remembered that it could not beso, and paused before she spoke, and looked up at him with eyes that werefull of wonder and almost of fear. 'Then must they perish?' she said, 'and must her heart break?' and her voice sank low for pity and sorrow. Though she was herself among the blessed, yet the thorns and briers ofthe earth caught at her garments and pierced her tender feet. 

'Little sister, ' said the Sage, 'to us who are born of the earth it ishard to remember that the child belongs not first to the parents, nor thehusband to the wife, nor the wife to the husband, but that all are thechildren of the Father. And He is just; He will not neglect the littleone because of those prayers which the father and the mother pour forthto Him, although they cry with anguish and with tears. Nor will He breakHis great law and violate the nature He has made, and compel His ownchild to what it wills not and loves not. The woman is comforted in thebreaking of her heart; but those whom she loves, are not they also thechildren of the Father, who loves them more than she does? And each is toHim as if there were not another in the world. Nor is there any other inthe world, --for none can come between the Father and the child. '

A smile came upon the little Pilgrim's face, yet she trembled. 'It is dimbefore me, ' she said, 'and I cannot see clearly. Oh, if the time wouldbut hasten, that our Lord might come, and all struggles be ended, and thedarkness vanish away!'

'He will come when all things are ready, ' said the Sage; and as they wentupon their way be showed her other sights, and the mysteries of the heartof man, and the great patience of our Lord. 

It happened to them suddenly to perceive in their way a man returninghome. These are words that are sweet to all who have lived upon the earthand known its ways; but far, far were they from that meaning which issweet. The dark hours had passed, and men had slept; and the night wasover. The sun was rising in the sky, which was keen and clear with thepleasure of the morning. The air was fresh with the dew, and the birdsawaking in the trees, and the breeze so sweet that it seemed to blow fromheaven; and to the two travellers it seemed almost in the joy of the newday as if the Lord had already come. But here was one who proved that itwas not so. He had not slept all the night, nor had night been silent tohim nor dark, but full of glaring light and noise and riot; his eyes werered with fever and weariness, and his soul was sick within him, and themorning looked him in the face and upbraided him as a sister might haveupbraided him, who loved him. And he said in his heart, as one had saidof old, that all was vanity; that it was vain to live, and evil to havebeen born; that the day of death was better than the day of birth, andall was delusion, and love but a word, and life a lie. His footsteps onthe road seemed to sound all through the sleeping world; and when helooked the morning in the face he was ashamed, and cursed the light. Thetwo went after him into a silent house, where everybody slept. The lightthat had burned for him all night was sick like a guilty thing in the eyeof day, and all that had been prepared for his repose was ghastly to himin the hour of awaking, as if prepared not for sleep but for death. Hisheart was sick like the watch-light, and life flickered within him withdisgust and disappointment. For why had he been born, if this wereall?--for all was vanity. The night and the day had been passed inpleasure, and it was vanity; and now his soul loathed his pleasures, yethe knew that was vanity too, and that next day he would resume them asbefore. All was vain, --the morning and the evening, and the spirit of manand the ways of human life. He looked himself in the face and loathedthis dream of existence, and knew that it was naught. So much as it hadcost to be born, to be fed, and guarded and taught and cared for, and allfor this! He said to himself that it was better to die than to live, andnever to have been than to be. 

As these spectators stood by with much pity and tenderness looking intothe weariness and sickness of this soul, there began to be enacted beforethem a scene such as no man could have seen, which no one was aware ofsave he who was concerned, and which even to him was not clear in itsmeanings, but rather like a phantasmagoria, a thing of the mists; yetwhich was great and solemn as is the council of a king in which greatthings are debated for the welfare of the nations. The air seemed in amoment to be full of the sound of footsteps, and of something moresubtle, which the Sage and the Pilgrim knew to be wings; and as theylooked, there grew before them the semblance of a court of justice, withaccusers and defenders; but the judge and the criminal were one. Then wasput forth that indictment which he had been making up in his soul againstlife and against the world; and again another indictment which wasagainst himself. And then the advocates began their pleadings. Voiceswere there great and eloquent, such as are familiar in the courts above, which sounded forth in the spectators' ears earnest as those who pleadfor life and death. And these speakers declared that sin only is vanity, that life is noble and love sweet, and every man made in the image ofGod, to serve both God and man; and they set forth their reasons beforethe judge and showed him mysteries of life and death; and they took upthe counter-indictment and proved to him how in all the world he hadsought but himself, his own pleasure and profit, his own will, not thewill of God, nor even the good desire of humble nature, but only thatwhich pleased his sick fancies and his self-loving heart. And theybesought him with a thousand arguments to return and choose again thebetter way. 'Arise, ' they cried, 'thou, miserable, and become great;arise, thou vain soul, and become noble. Take thy birthright, O son, andbehold the face of the Father. ' And then there came a whispering of lowervoices, very penetrating and sweet, like the voices of women andchildren, who murmured and cried, 'O father! O brother! O love! O mychild!' The man who was the accused, yet who was the judge, listened; andhis heart burned, and a longing arose within him for the face of theFather and the better way. But then there came a clang and clamor ofsound on the other side; and voices called out to him as comrade, aslover, as friend, and reminded him of the delights which once had been sosweet to him, and of the freedom he loved; and boasted the right of manto seek what was pleasant and what was sweet, and flouted him as a cowardwhose aim was to save himself, and scorned him as a believer in oldwives' tales and superstitions that men had outgrown. And their voiceswere so vehement and full of passion that by times they mastered theothers, so that it was as if a tempest raged round the soul which sat inthe midst, and who was the offender and yet the judge of all. 

The two spectators watched the conflict, as those who watch the trialupon which hangs a man's life. It seemed to the little Pilgrim that shecould not keep silent, and that there were things which she could tellhim which no one knew but she. She put her hand upon the arm of the Sageand called to him, 'Speak you, speak you! he will hear you; and I toowill speak, and he will not resist what we say. ' But even as she saidthis, eager and straining against her companion's control, the strangestthing ensued. The man who was set there to judge himself and his life; hewho was the criminal, yet august upon his seat, to weigh all and give thedecision; he before whom all those great advocates were pleading, --a hazestole over his eyes. He was but a man, and he was weary, and subject tothe sway of the little over the great, the moment over the life, which isthe condition of man. While yet the judgment was not given or the issuedecided, while still the pleadings were in his ears, in a moment his headdropped back upon his pillow, and he fell asleep. He slept like a child, as if there was no evil, nor conflict, nor danger, nor questions, morethan how best to rest when you are weary, in all the world. Andstraightway all was silent in the place. Those who had been conductingthis great cause departed to other courts and tribunals, having done allthat was permitted them to do. And the man slept, and when it was noonwoke and remembered no more. 

The Sage led the little Pilgrim forth in a great confusion, so that shecould not speak for wonder. But he said, 'This sleep also was from theFather; for the mind of the man was weary, and not able to form ajudgment. It is adjourned until a better day. '

The little Pilgrim hung her head and cried, 'I do not understand. Willnot the Lord interfere? Will not the Father make it clear to him? Is hethe judge between good and evil? Is it all in his own hand?'

The Sage spoke softly, as if with awe. He said, 'This is the burden ofour nature, which is not like the angels. There is none in heaven or onearth that can take from him what is his right and great honor among thecreatures of God. The Father respects that which He has made. He willforce no child of His. And there is no haste with Him; nor has it everbeen fathomed among us how long He will wait, or if there is any end. Theair is full of the coming and going of those who plead before the sons ofmen; and sometimes in great misery and trouble there will be a cause wonand a judgment recorded which makes the universe rejoice. And ineverything at the end it is proved that our Lord's way is the best, andthat all can be accomplished in His name. '

The little Pilgrim went on her way in silence, knowing that the longingin her heart which was to compel them to come in, like that king whosent to gather his guests from the highways and the hedges, could notbe right, since it was not the Father's way, yet confused in her soul, and full of an eager desire to go back and wake that man and tell himall that had been in her heart while she watched him sitting on hisjudgment-seat. But there came recollections wafted across her mind as bybreezes of the past, of scenes in her earthly life when she had spokenwithout avail, when she had said all that was in her heart and failed, and done harm when she had meant to do good. And slowly it came upon herthat her companion spoke the truth, and that no man can save his brother;but each must sit and hear the pleadings and pronounce that judgmentwhich is for life or death. 'But oh, ' she cried, 'how long and how bitterit is for those who love them, and must stand by and can give no aid!'

Then her companion unfolded to her the patience of the Lord, and how Heis not discouraged, nor ever weary, but opens His great assizes year byyear and day by day; and how the cause was argued again, as she had seenit, before the souls of men, sometimes again and again and over and over, till the pleadings of the advocates carried conviction, and the judgeperceived the truth and consented to it. He showed her that this was thegreat thing in human life, and that though it was not enough to make aman perfect, yet that he who sinned against his will was different fromthe man who sinned with his will; and how in all things the choice of theman for good or evil was all in all. And he led her about the world sothat she could see how everywhere the heavenly advocates were travelling, entering into the secret places of the souls, and pleading with each manto his face. And the little Pilgrim looked on with pitying and tendereyes, and it seemed to her that the heart of the judge, before whom thatgreat question was debated, leaned mostly to the right, and acknowledgedthat the way of the Lord was the best way; but either that sleepoverpowered him and weariness, or the other voices deafened his ears, orsomething betrayed him that he forgot the reasons of the wise and thejudgment of his own soul. At first it comforted her to see how somethingnobler in every man would answer to the pleadings; and then her heartfailed her, to perceive that notwithstanding this the judge would leavehis seat without a decision, and all would end in vanity. 'And oh, friend, ' she cried, 'what shall be done to those who see and yetrefuse?'--her heart being wrung by the disappointment and the failure. But her companion smiled still, and he said, 'They are the children ofthe Father. Can a woman forget her child that she should not havecompassion on the son of her womb? She may forget; yet will not Heforget. ' And thus they went on and on. 

But time would not suffice to tell what these two pilgrims saw as theywandered among the ways of men. They saw poverty and misery and pain, which came of the evil which man had done upon the earth, and were hispunishment, and could be cured by nothing but by the return of each tohis Father, and the giving up of all self-worship and self-seeking andsin. But amid all the confusion and among those who had fallen the lowestthey found not one who was forsaken, whose name the Father had forgotten, or who was not made to pause in his appointed moment, and to sit upon histhrone and hear the pleadings before him of the great advocates of God, reasoning of temperance and righteousness and judgment to come. 

But once before they returned to their home, a great thing befell them;and they beheld that court sit, and the pleadings made, for the last timeupon earth, which was a sight more solemn and terrible than anything theyhad yet seen. They found themselves in a chamber where sat a man who hadlived long and known both good and evil, and fulfilled many greatoffices, so that he was famed and honored among men. He was a man who waswise in all the learning of the earth, standing but a little way belowthose who have begun the higher learning in the world beyond, and liftingup his head as if he would reach the stars. The travellers stood by himin his beautiful house, which was as the palace of wisdom, and saw him inthe midst of all his honors. The lamps were lit within, and the night wassweet without, breathing of rest and happy ease, and riches andknowledge, as if they would endure forever. And the man looked round onall he had, and all he had achieved, and everything which he possessed, to enjoy it. For of wisdom and of glory he had his fill, and his soul wasyet strong to take pleasure in what was his, and he looked around himlike God, and said that everything was good; so that the little Pilgrimgazed, and wondered whether this could indeed be one of the brethren ofthe earth, or if he was one who had wandered hither from another sphere. 

But as the thought arose, she heard, and lo! the steps of the pleadersand the sound of their entry. They came slowly like a solemn procession, more grave and awful in their looks than any she had seen, for they weregreat and the greatest of all, such as come forth but rarely when thelast word is to be said. The words they said were few; but they stoodround him reminding him of all that had been, and of what must be, and ofmany things which were known but to God and him alone, and calling uponhim yet once more before time should come to an end and life be lost. Butthe sound of their voices in his ear was but as some great strain ofmusic which he had heard many times and knew and heeded not. He turned tothe goods which he had laid up for many years, and all the knowledge hehad stored, and said to himself, 'Soul, take thine ease. ' And to theheavenly advocates he smiled and replied that life was strong and wisdomthe master of all. Then there came a chill and a shiver over all, as ifthe earth had been stopped in her career or the sun fallen from the sky;and the little Pilgrim, looking on, could see the heavenly pleaders comeforth with bowed heads and the door of hope shut to, and a whisper whichcrept about from sea to sea and said, 'In vain! in vain!' And as theywent forth from the gates an icy breath swept in, and the voice of theDeath-Angel saying, 'Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required ofthee!' The sound went through her heart as if it had been pierced by asword, and she gave a cry of anguish, for she could not bear that abrother should be lost. But when she looked up at the face of hercompanion, though it was pale with the pity and the terror of that whichhad been thus accomplished, there was still upon it a smile; and he said, 'Not yet; not yet. The Father loves not less, but more than ever. ' 'Ofriend, ' she cried, 'will there ever come a moment when the Father willforget? IS there any place where He cannot go?'

Then he who was wise turned towards her, and a great light came upon hisface; and he said, 'We have searched the records, and heard all witnessesfrom the beginnings of time; but we have never found the boundary of Hismercy, and there is no country known to man that is without his presence. And never has it been known that He has shut His ear to those who calledupon Him, or forgotten one who is His. The heavenly pleaders may besilenced, but never our Lord, who pleads for all; and heaven and earthmay forget, yet will He never forget who is the Father of all. And everychild of His is to Him as if there was none other in the world. '

Then the little Pilgrim lifted her face and beheld that radiance which isover all, which is the love that lights the world, both angels and thegreat spheres above and the little brethren who stumble and struggle andweep; and in that light there was no darkness at all, but everythingshone as in the morning, sweet yet terrible, but ever clear and fair. Andimmediately, ere she was aware, the rough roads of the earth were leftfar behind, and she had returned to her place, and to her peaceful state, and to the work which had been given her, --to receive the wanderers andto bid them a happy welcome as the doors opened and they entered intotheir inheritance. And thus her soul was satisfied, though she knew nownothing more than she had known always, --that the eye of the Father isover all, and that He can neither forget nor forsake. 

II. 

ON THE DARK MOUNTAINS. 

When the little Pilgrim had been thus permitted to see the secretworkings of God in earthly places, and among the brethren who are stillin the land of hope, --these being things which the angels desire to lookinto, and which are the subject of story and of song not only in thelittle world below, but in the great realms above, --her heart for a longtime reposed and was satisfied, and asked no further question. For shehad seen what the dealings of the Father were in the hearts of men, andhow till the end came He did not cease to send His messengers to plead inevery heart, and to hold a court of justice that no man might bedeceived, but each know whither his steps were tending, and what was theway of wisdom. After this it was permitted to her to read in the archivesof the heavenly country the story of one, who, neglecting all that theadvocates of God could say, had found himself, when the little life wascompleted, not upon the threshold of a better country, but in the midstof the Land of Darkness, --that region in which the souls of men are leftby God to their own devices, and the Father stands aloof, and hides Hisface and calls them not, neither persuades them more. Over this story thelittle Pilgrim had shed many tears; for she knew well, being enlightenedin her great simplicity by the heavenly wisdom, that it was pain andgrief to the Father to turn away His face; and that no one who has butthe little heart of a man can imagine to himself what that sorrow is inthe being of the great God. And a great awe came over her mind at thethought, which seemed well-nigh a blasphemy, that He could grieve; yet inher heart, being His child, she knew that it was true. And her own littlespirit throbbed through and through with longing and with desire to helpthose who were thus utterly lost. 'And oh!' she said, 'if I could but go!There is nothing which could make a child afraid, save to see themsuffer. What are darkness and terror when the Father is with you? I amnot afraid--if I might but go!' And by reason of her often pleading, andof the thought that was ever in her mind, it was at last said that one ofthose who knew might instruct her, and show her by what way alone thetravellers who come from that miserable land could approach and beadmitted on high. 

'I know, ' she said, 'that between us and them there is a gulf fixed, andthat they who would come from thence cannot come, neither can any one--'

But here she stopped in great dismay, for it seemed that she had thusanswered her own longing and prayer. 

The guide who had come for her smiled upon her and said, 'But that wasbefore the Lord had ended His work. And now all the paths are freewherever there is a mountain-pass or a river-ford; the roads are allblessed, and they are all open, and no barriers for those who will. '

'Oh, ' she cried, 'dear friend, is that true for all?'

He looked away from her into the depths of the lovely air, and hereplied: 'Little sister, our faith is without bounds, but not ourknowledge. I who speak to you am no more than a man. The princes andpowers that are in high places know more than I; but if there be anyplace where a heart can stir and cry out to the Father and He take noheed, --if it be only in a groan, if it be only with a sigh, --I know notthat place, yet many depths I know. ' He put out his hand and took hersafter a pause; and then he said, 'There are some who are stumbling uponthe dark mountains. Come and see. '

As they passed along, there were many who paused to look at them, forhe had the mien of a great prince, a lord among men; and his face stillbore the trace of sorrow and toil, and there was about him an awe andwonder which was more than could be put in words. So that those who sawhim understood as he went by, not who he was, nor what he had been, butthat he had come out of great tribulation, of sorrow beyond the sorrowsof men. The sweetness of the heavenly country had soothed away hiscare, and taken the cloud from his face; but he was as yet unaccustomedto smile, --though when he remembered and looked round him and saw thatall was well, his countenance lightened like the morning sky, and hiseyes woke up in splendor like the sun rising. The little Pilgrim didnot know who her brother was, but yet gave thanks to God for him, sheknew not why. 

How far they went cannot be estimated in words, for distance matterslittle in that place; but at the end they came to a path which sloped alittle downwards to the edge of a delightful moorland country, allbrilliant with the hues of the mountain flowers. It was like a floweryplateau high among the hills, in a region where are no frosts to checkthe glow of the flowers, or scorch the grass. It spread far around inhollows and ravines and softly swelling hills, with the rush over them ofa cheerful breeze full of mountain scents and sounds; and high above themrose the mountain heights of the celestial world, veiled in those bluebreadths of distance which are heaven itself when man's fancy ascends tothem from the low world at their feet. All the little earth can do incolor and mists, and travelling shadows fleet as the breath, and thesweet steadfast shining of the sun, was there, but with a ten-foldsplendor. They rose up into the sky, every peak and jagged rock alltouched with the light and the smile of God, and every little blossom onthe turf rejoicing in the warmth and freedom and peace. The heart of thelittle Pilgrim swelled, and she cried out, 'There is nothing so gloriousas the everlasting hills. Though the valleys and the plains are sweet, they are not like them. They say to us, lift up your heart!'

Her guide smiled, but he did not speak. His smile was full of joy, butgrave, like that of a man whose thoughts are bent on other things; and hepointed where the road wound downwards by the feet of these triumphanthills. She kept her eyes upon them as she moved along. Those heights roseinto the very sky, but bore upon them neither snow nor storm. Here andthere a whiteness like a film of air rounded out over a peak; and sherecognized that it was one of those angels who travel far and wide withGod's commissions, going to the other worlds that are in the firmament asin a sea. The softness of these films of white was like the summer cloudsthat she used to watch in the blue of the summer sky in the little worldwhich none of its children can cease to love; and she wondered nowwhether it might not sometimes have been the same dear angels whoseflight she had watched unknowing, higher than thought could soar orknowledge penetrate. Watching those floating heavenly messengers, and theheights of the great miraculous mountains rising up into the sky, thelittle Pilgrim ceased to think whither she was going, although she knewfrom the feeling of the ground under her feet that she was descending, still softly, but more quickly than at first, until she was brought toherself by the sensation of a great wind coming in her face, cold as froma sudden vacancy. She turned her head quickly from gazing above to whatwas before her, and started with a cry of wonder. For below lay a greatgulf of darkness, out of which rose at first some shadowy peaks andshoulders of rock, all falling away into a gloom which eyes accustomed tothe sunshine could not penetrate. Where she stood was the edge of thelight, --before her feet lay a line of shadow slowly darkening out ofdaylight into twilight, and beyond into that measureless blackness ofnight; and the wind in her face was like that which comes from a greatdepth below of either sea or land, --the sweep of the current which movesa vast atmosphere in which there is nothing to break its force. Thelittle Pilgrim was so startled by these unexpected sensations that shecaught the arm of her guide in her sudden alarm, and clung to him, lestshe should fall into the terrible darkness and the deep abyss below. 

'There is nothing to fear, ' he said; 'there is a way. To us who areabove there is no danger at all; and it is the way of life to those whoare below. '

'I see nothing, ' she cried, 'save a few points of rock, and theprecipice, --the pit which is below. Oh, tell me what is it? Is it wherethe fires are, and despair dwells? I did not think that was true. Let mego and hide myself and not see it, for I never thought that was true. '

'Look again, ' said the guide. 

The little Pilgrim shrank into a crevice of the rock, and uncovering hereyes, gazed into the darkness; and because her nature was soft and timidthere came into her mind a momentary fear. Her heart flew to the Father'sfootstool, and cried out to Him, not any question or prayer, but only'Father, Father!' and this made her stand erect, and strengthened hereyes, so that the gloom even of hell could no more make her afraid. Herguide stood beside with a steadfast countenance, which was grave, yetfull of a solemn light. And then all at once he lifted up his voice, which was sonorous and sweet like the sound of an organ, and uttered ashout so great and resounding that it seemed to come back in echoes fromevery hollow and hill. What he said the little Pilgrim could notunderstand; but when the echoes had died away and silence followed, something came up through the gloom, --a sound that was far, far away, andfaint in the long distance; a voice that sounded no more than an echo. When he who had called out heard it, he turned to the little Pilgrim witheyes that were liquid with love and pity; 'Listen, ' he said, 'there issome one on the way. '

'Can we help them?' cried the little Pilgrim; her heart bounded forwardlike a bird. She had no fear. The darkness and the horrible way seemed asnothing to her. She stretched out her arms as if she would have seizedthe traveller and dragged him up into the light. 

He who was by her side shook his head, but with a smile. 'We can butwait, ' he said. 'It is forbidden that any one should help; for this istoo terrible and strange to be touched even by the hands of angels. It islike nothing that you know. '

'I have been taught many things, ' said the little Pilgrim, humbly. 'Ihave been taken back to the dear earth, where I saw the judgment-seat, and the pleaders who spoke, and the man who was the judge, and how eachis judge for himself. '

'You have seen the place of hope, ' said her guide, 'where the Father isand the Son, and where no man is left to his own ways. But there isanother country, where there is no voice either from God or from goodspirits, and where those who have refused are left to do as seems good intheir own eyes. '

'I have read, ' said the little Pilgrim, with a sob, 'of one who went fromcity to city and found no rest. '

Her guide bowed his head very gravely in assent. 'They go from place toplace, ' he said, 'if haply they might find one in which it is possible tolive. Whether it is order or whether it is license, it is according totheir own will. They try all things, ever looking for something which thesoul may endure. And new cities are founded from time to time, and a newendeavor ever and ever to live, only to live. For even when happinessfails and content, and work is vanity and effort is naught, it issomething if a man can but endure to live. '

The little Pilgrim looked at him with wistful eyes, for what he said wasbeyond her understanding. 'For us, ' she said, 'life is nothing but joy. Oh, brother, is there then condemnation?'

'It is no condemnation; it is what they have chosen, --it is to followtheir own way. There is no longer any one to interfere. The pleaders areall silent; there is no voice in the heart. The Father hinders them not, nor helps them, but leaves them. ' He shivered as if with cold; and thelittle Pilgrim felt that there breathed from the depths of darkness attheir feet an icy wind which touched her hands and feet and chilled herheart. She shivered too, and drew close to the rock for shelter, andgazed at the awful cliffs rising out of the gloom, and the paths thatdisappeared at her feet, leading down, down into that abyss; and herheart failed within her to think that below there were souls thatsuffered, and that the Father and the Son were not there. He, theAll-loving, the All-present, --how could it be that He was not there?

'It is a mystery, ' said the man who was her guide, and who answered toher thought. 'When I set my foot upon this blessed land I knew thatthere, even there, He is. But in that country His face is hidden, andeven to name His name is anguish, --for then only do men understand whathas befallen them, who can say that name no more. '

'That is death indeed, ' she cried; and the wind came up silent with awild breath that was more awful than the shriek of a storm; for it waslike the stifled utterances of all those miserable ones who have no voiceto call upon God, and know not where He is nor how to pronounce His name. 

'Ah, ' said he, 'if we could have known what death was! We had believed indeath in the time of all great illusions, in the time of the gentle life, in the day of hope. But in the land of darkness there are no illusions;and every man knows that though he should fling himself into the furnaceof the gold, or be cut to pieces by the knives, or trampled under thedancers' feet, yet that it will be but a little more pain, and that deathis not, nor any escape that way. '

'Oh, brother!' she cried, 'you have been there!'

He turned and looked upon her; and she read as in a book things whichtongue of man cannot say, --the anguish and the rapture, theunforgotten pang of the lost, the joy of one who has been deliveredafter hope was gone. 

'I have been there; and now I stand in the light, and have seen the faceof the Lord, and can speak His blessed name. ' And with that he burstforth into a great melodious cry, which was not like that which he hadsent into the dark depths below, but mounted up like the sounding ofsilver trumpets and all joyful music, giving a voice to the sweet air andthe fresh winds which blew about the hills of God. But the words he saidwere not comprehensible to his companion, for they were in the sweettongue which is between the Father and His child, and known to none butto them alone. Yet only to hear the sound was enough to transport all wholistened, and to make them know what joy is and peace. The littlePilgrim wept for happiness to hear her brother's voice; but in the midstof it her ear was caught by another sound, --a faint cry which tingled upfrom the darkness like a note of a muffled bell, --and she turned from thejoy and the light, and flung out her arms and her little voice towardshim who was stumbling upon the dark mountains. And 'Come, ' she cried, 'come, come!' forgetting all things save that one was there in thedarkness, while here was light and peace. 

'It is nearer, ' said her guide, hearing, even in the midst of his triumphsong, that faint and distant cry; and he took her hand and drew her back, for she was upon the edge of the precipice, gazing into the black depths, which revealed nothing save the needles of the awful rocks and sheerdescents below. 'The moment will come, ' he said, 'when we can help; butit is not yet. '

Her heart was in the depths with him who was coming, whom she knew notsave that he was coming, toiling upwards towards the light; and it seemedto her that she could not contain herself, nor wait till he shouldappear, nor draw back from the edge, where she might hold out her handsto him and save him some single step, if no more. But presently her heartreturned to her brother who stood by her side, and who was delivered, and with whom it was meet that all should rejoice, since he had foughtand conquered, and reached the land of light. 'Oh, ' she said, 'it is longto wait while he is still upon these dark mountains. Tell me how it cameto you to find the way. '

He turned to her with a smile, though his ear too was intent, and hisheart fixed upon the traveller in the darkness, and began to tell her histale to beguile the time of waiting, and to hold within bounds the pitythat filled her heart. He told her that he was one of many who came fromthe pleasant earth together, out of many countries and tongues; and howthey had gone here and there each man to a different city; and how theyhad crossed each other's paths coming and going, yet never found rest fortheir feet; and how there was a little relief in every change, and onesought that which another left; and how they wandered round and roundover all the vast and endless plain, until at length in revolt from everyother way, they had chosen a spot upon the slope of a hill, and builtthere a new city, if perhaps something better might be found there; andhow it had been built with towers and high walls, and great gates to shutit in, so that no stranger should find entrance; and how every house wasa palace, with statues of marble, and pillars so precious with beautifulwork, and arches so lofty and so fair that they were better than had theybeen made of gold, --yet gold was not wanting, nor diamond stones thatshone like stars, and everything more beautiful and stately than heartcould conceive. 

'And while we built and labored, ' he said, 'our hearts were a littleappeased. And it was called the city of Art, and all was perfect in it, so that nothing had ever been seen to compare with it for beauty; and wewalked upon the battlements and looked over the plain and viewed thedwellers there, who were not as we. And we went on to fill every room andevery hall with carved work in stone and beaten gold, and pictures andwoven tissues that were like the sun-gleams and the rainbows of thepleasant earth. And crowds came around envying us and seeking to enter;but we closed our gates and drove them away. And it was said among usthat life would now become as of old, and everything would go well withus as in the happy days. '

The little Pilgrim looked up into his face, and for pity of his pain(though it was past) almost wished that _that_ could have come true. 

'But when the work was done, ' he said, and for a moment no more. 

'Oh, brother! when the work was done?' 'You do not know what it is, ' hesaid, 'to be ten times more powerful and strong, to want no rest, to havefire in your veins, to have the craving in your heart above everythingthat is known to man. When the work was done, we glared upon each otherwith hungry eyes, and each man wished to thrust forth his neighbor andpossess all to himself. And then we ceased to take pleasure in it, notwithstanding that it was beautiful; and there were some who would havebeaten down the walls and built them anew; and some would have torn upthe silver and gold, and tossed out the fair statues and the adornmentsin scorn and rage to the meaner multitudes below. And we who were theworkers began to contend one against another to satisfy the gnawings ofthe rage that was in our hearts. For we had deceived ourselves, thinkingonce more that all would be well; while all the time nothing was changed, and we were but as the miserable ones that rushed from place to place. '

Though all this wretchedness was over and past, it was so terrible tothink of that he paused and was silent awhile. And the little Pilgrimput her hand upon his arm in her great pity, to soothe him, and almostforgot that there was another traveller not yet delivered upon the way. But suddenly at that moment there came up through the depths the sound ofa fall, as if the rocks had crashed from a hundred peaks, yet all muffledby the great distance, and echoing all around in faint echoes, andrumblings as in the bosom of the earth; and mingled with them werefar-off cries, so faint and distant that human ears could not have heardthem, like the cries of lost children, or creatures wavering and strayingin the midst of the boundless night. This time she who was watching uponthe edge of the gloom would have flung herself forward altogether intoit, had not her companion again restrained her. 'One has stumbled uponthe mountains; but listen, listen, little sister, for the voices aremany, ' he said. 'It is not one who comes, but many; and though he fallshe will rise again. ' And once more he shouted aloud, bending down againstthe rocks, so that they caught his voice; and the sweet air from theskies came behind him in a great gust like a summer storm, and carried itinto all the echoing hollows of the hills. And the little Pilgrim knewthat he shouted to all who came to take courage and not to fear. Andthis time there rose upwards many faint and wavering sounds that did notstir the air, but made it tingle with a vibration of the great distanceand the unknown depths; and then again all was still. They stood for atime intent upon the great silence and darkness which swept up all sightand sound, and then the little Pilgrim once more turned her eyes towardsher companion, and he began again his wonderful tale. 

'He who had been the first to found the city, and who was the most wiseof any, though the rage was in him like all the rest, and thedisappointment and the anguish, yet would not yield. And he called uponus for another trial, to make a picture which should be the greatest thatever was painted; and each one of us, small or great, who had been ofthat art in the dear life, took share in the rivalry and the emulation, so that on every side there was a fury and a rush, each man with his bandof supporters about him struggling and swearing that his was the best. Not that they loved the work or the beauty of the work, but to keep downthe gnawing in their hearts, and to have something for which they couldstill fight and storm, and for a little forget. '

'I was one who had been among the highest. ' He spoke not with pride, butin a low and deep voice which went to the heart of the listener, andbrought the tears to her eyes. It was not like that of the painter in theheavenly city, who rejoiced and was glad in his work, though he was butas a humble workman, serving those who were more great. But this man hadthe sorrow of greatness in him, and the wonder of those who can do much, to find how little they can do. 'My veins, ' he said, 'were filled withfire, and my heart with the rage of a great desire to be first, as I hadbeen first in the days of the gentle life. And I made my plan to begreater than all the rest, to paint a vast picture like the world, filledwith all the glories of life. In a moment I had conceived what I shoulddo, for my strength was as that of a hundred men; and none of us couldrest or breathe till it was accomplished, but flung ourselves upon thisnew thing as upon water in the desert. Oh, my little sister, how can Itell you; what words can show forth this wonderful thing? I stood beforemy great canvas with all those who were of my faction pressing upon me, noting every touch I made, shouting, and saying, "He will win! he willwin!" when lo! there came a mystery and a wonder into that place. I hadarranged men and women before me according to all the devices of art, toserve as my models, that nature might be in my picture, and life; butwhen I looked I saw them not, for between them and me had come a Face. '

The eyes of the little Pilgrim dropped with tears. She held out her handstowards him with a sympathy which no words could say. 

'Often had I painted that Face in the other life, sometimes with awe andlove, sometimes with scorn, --for hire and for bread, and for pride andfor fame. It is pale with suffering, yet smiles; the eyes have tears inthem, yet light below, and all that is there is full of tenderness and oflove. There is a crown upon the brow, but it is made of thorns. It camebefore me suddenly, while I stood there, with the men shouting close tomy ear urging me on, and fierce fury in my heart, and the rage to befirst, and to forget. Where my models were, there it came. I could notsee them, nor my groups that I had planned, nor anything but that Face. Icalled out to my men. "Who has done this?" but they heard me not, norunderstood me, for to them there was nothing there save the figures I hadset, --a living picture all ready for the painter's hand. 

'I could not bear it, the sight of that Face. I flung my tools away; Icovered my eyes with my hands. But those who were about me pressed on meand threatened; they pulled my hands from my eyes. "Coward!" they cried, and "Traitor, to leave us in the lurch! Now will the other side win andwe be shamed. Rather tear him limb from limb, fling him from the walls!"The crowd came round me like an angry sea; they forced my pencils backinto my hands. "Work, " they cried, "or we will tear you limb from limb. "For though they were upon my side, it was for rivalry, and not out of anylove for me. ' He paused for a moment, for his heart was yet full of theremembrance, and of joy that it was past. 

'I looked again, ' he said, 'and still it was there. O Face divine, --theeyes all wet with pity, the lips all quivering with love! And neitherpity nor love belonged to that place, nor any succor, nor the touch of abrother, nor the voice of a friend. "Paint, " they cried, "or we will tearyou limb from limb!" and fire came into my heart. I pushed them from meon every side with the strength of a giant. And then I flung it on thecanvas, crying I know not what, --not to them, but to Him. Shrink not fromme, little sister, for I blasphemed. I called Him Impostor, Deceiver, Galilean; and still with all my might, with all the fury of my soul, Iset Him there for every man to see, not knowing what I did. Everythingfaded from me but that Face; I saw it alone. The crowd came round me withshouts and threats to drag me away but I took no heed. They weresilenced, and fled and left me alone, but I knew nothing; nor when theycame back with others and seized me, and flung me forth from the gates, was I aware what I had done. They cast me out and left me upon the wildwithout a shelter, without a companion, storming and raving at them asthey did at me. They dashed the great gates behind me with a clang, andshut me out. And I turned and defied them, and cursed them as they cursedme, not knowing what I had done. '

'Oh, brother!' murmured the little Pilgrim, kneeling, as if she hadaccompanied him all the way with her prayers, but could not now say more. 

'Then I saw again, ' he went on, not hearing her in the great force ofthat passion and wonder which was still in his mind, 'that vision in theair. Wherever I turned, it was there, --His eyes wet with pity, Hiscountenance shining with love. Whence came He? What did He in that place, where love is not, where pity comes not?'

'Friend, ' she cried, 'to seek you there!'

Her companion bowed his head in deep humbleness and joy. And again helifted his great voice and intoned his song of praise. The little Pilgrimunderstood it, but by fragments, --a line that was more simple that camehere and there. And it praised the Lord that where the face of the Fatherwas hidden; and where love was not, nor compassion, nor brother had pityon brother, nor friend knew the face of friend; and all succor wasstayed, and every help forbidden, --yet still in the depths of thedarkness and in the heart of the silence, He who could not forget norforsake was there. The voice of the singer was like that of one of thegreat angels, and many of the inhabitants of the blessed country began toappear, gathering in crowds to hear this great music, as the littlesister thought; and she herself listened with all her heart, wonderingand seeing on the faces of those dear friends whom she did not know anexpectation and a hope which were strange to her, though she could alwaysunderstand their love and their joy. 

But in the middle of this great song there came again another sound toher ear, --a sound which pierced through the music like lightning throughthe sky, though it was but the cry of one distraught and fainting; a cryout of the depths not even seeking help, a cry of distress too terribleto be borne. Though it was scarcely louder than a sigh, she heard itthrough all the music, and turned and flew to the edge of the precipicewhence it came. And immediately the darkness seemed to move as with apulse in a great throb, and something came through the wind with a rush, as if part of the mountain had fallen--and lo! at her feet lay one whohad flung himself forward, his arms stretched out, his face to theground, as if he had seized and grasped in an agony the very soil. He laythere, half in the light and half in the shadow, gripping the rocks withhis hands, burrowing into the cool herbage above and the mountainflowers; clinging, catching hold, despairing, yet seizing everything hecould grasp, --the tender grass, the rolling stones. The little Pilgrimflung herself down upon her knees by his side, and grasped his arm tohelp, and cried aloud for aid; and the song of the singer ceased, andthere was silence for a moment, so that the breath of the fugitive couldbe heard panting, and his strong struggle to drag himself altogether outof that abyss of darkness below. She thought of nothing, nor heard norsaw anything but the strain of that last effort which seemed to shakethe very mountains; until suddenly there seemed to rise all around thehum and murmur as of a great multitude, and looking up, she saw everylittle hill and hollow, and the glorious plain beyond as far as eye couldsee, crowded with countless throngs; and on the high peaks above, in thefull shining of the sun, came bands of angels, and of those great beingswho are more mighty than men. And the eyes of all were fixed upon the manwho lay as one dead upon the ground, and from the lips of all came a lowmurmur of rapture and delight, that spread like the hum of the bees, likethe cooing of the doves, like the voice of a mother over her child; andthe same sound came to her own lips unawares, and she murmured 'welcome'and 'brother' and 'friend, ' not knowing what she said; and looking to theothers, whispered, 'Hush! for he is weak'--and all of them answered withtears, with 'hush' and 'welcome' and 'friend' and 'brother' and'beloved, ' and stood smiling and weeping for joy. And presently therecame softly into the blessed air the ringing of the great silver bells, which sound only for victory and great happiness and gain. And there wasjoy in heaven; and every world was stirred. And throughout the firmament, and among all the lords and princes of life, it was known that theimpossible had become true, and the name of the Lord had provedenough, and love had conquered even despair. 

'Hush!' she said, 'for he is weak. ' And because it was her blessedservice to receive those who had newly arrived in that heavenly country, and to soothe and help them so that like newborn children they should beable to endure and understand the joy, she knelt by him on the groundand tried to rouse him, though with trembling, for never before had shestood by one who was newly come out of the land of despair. 'Let the suncome upon him, ' she said; 'let him feel the brightness of thelight, '--and with her soft hands she drew him out of the shade of thetwilight to where the brightness of the day fell like a smile upon theflowers. And then at last he stirred, and turned round and opened hiseyes, for the genial warmth had reached him. But his eyes were heavy anddazzled with the light; and he looked round him as if confused frombeneath his heavy eyelids. 'And where am I?' he said; 'and who are you?''Oh, brother!' said the little Pilgrim, and told him in his ear the nameof that heavenly place, and many comforting and joyful things. But heunderstood her not, and still gazed about him with dazzled eyes, for hisface was still towards the darkness, and fear was upon him lest thisplace should prove no more than a delusion, and the darkness return, andthe anguish and pain. 

Then he who had been her guide, and told her his tale, came forward andstood by the side of the newly come. And 'Brother, ' he said, 'look uponme, for you know me, and know from whence I come. '

The stranger looked dimly with his heavy eyes. And he replied, 'It is asa dream that I know you, and know from whence you came. And the dream issweet to lie here, and think that I am at peace. Deceive me not, oh!deceive me not with dreams that are sweet; but let me go upon my way andfind the end, if there is any end, or if any good can be. '

'What shall we do, ' cried the little Pilgrim, 'to persuade him that hehas arrived and is safe, and dreams no more?'

And they stood round him wondering, and troubled to find how little theycould do for him, and that the light entered so slowly into his soul. Andhe lay on the bank like one left for death, so weary and so worn withall the horrors of the way that his heart was faint within him, and peaceitself seemed to him but an illusion. He lay silent while they watchedand waited, then turned himself upon the grass, which was as soft to theweary wayfarer as angels' wings; and then the sunshine caught his eye, asif he had been a newborn babe awakened to the light. He put out his handto it, and touched the ground that was golden with those heavenly rays, and gathered himself up till he felt it upon his face, and opened widehis dazzled eyes, then shaded them with trembling hands, and said tohimself, 'It is the sun; it is the sun!' But still he did not dare tobelieve that the danger and the toil were over, nor could he listen, norunderstand what the brethren said. While they all stood around andwatched and waited, wondering each how the new-comer should be satisfied, there suddenly arose a sound with which they were all acquainted, --thesound of One approaching. The faces of the blessed were all around likethe stars in the sky, --multitudes whom none could count or reckon; but Hewho came was seen of none, save him to whom He came. The weary man roseup with a great cry, then fell again upon his knees, and flung his armswide in the wonder and the joy. And 'Lord, ' he cried, 'was it Thou?Lord, it was Thou! Thine was the face. And Thou hast brought me here!'

The watchers knew not what the other voice said, for what is said to eachnew-comer is the secret of the Lord. But when they looked again, the manstood upright upon his feet, and his face was full of light; and thoughhe trembled with weakness and with weariness, and with exceeding joy, yetthe confusion and the fear were gone from him. And he had no longer anysuspicion of them, as if they might betray him, but held out histrembling hands and cried, 'Friends, --you are friends? and you spoke tome and called me brother? And am I here? And am I here?' For to name thename of that blessed country was not needful any longer, now that he hadseen the Lord. 

Then a great band and guard of honor, of angels and principalities andpowers, surrounded him, and led him away to the holy city, and to thepresence of the Father, who had permitted and had not forbidden what theLord had done. And all the companies of the blessed followed after withwonder and gladness and triumph, because the great love of the Lord haddrawn out of the darkness even those who were beyond hope. 

The little Pilgrim saw them depart from her with love and joy, and satdown upon the rocky edge and sang her own song of peace; for her fear wasgone, and she was ready to do her service there upon the verge of theprecipice as among the flowers and the sunshine, where her own place was. 'From the depths, ' she said, 'they come, they come!--from the land ofdarkness, where no love is. For Thy love, O Lord, is more than thedarkness and the depths. And where hope is not, there Thy pity goes. ' Shesat and sang to herself like a happy child, for her heart had fathomedthe awful gloom which baffles angels and men; and she had learned thatthough hope comes to an end and light fails, and the feet of theambassadors are stayed on the mountains, and the voice of the pleaders issilenced, and darkness swallows up the world, yet Love never fails. Asshe sang, the pity in her heart grew so strong, and her desire to helpthe lost, that she rose up and stepped forth into the awful gloom, andhad it been permitted, in her gentleness and weakness would have goneforth to the deeps and had no fear. 

The ground gave way under her feet, so dreadful was the precipice; butthough her heart beat with the horror of it, and the whirl of the descentand the darkness which blinded her eyes, yet had she no hurt. And whenher foot touched the rock, and that sinking sense of emptiness andvacancy ceased, she looked around and saw the path by which thattraveller had come. For when the eyes are used to the darkness, thehorror of the gloom was no longer like a solid thing, but moved intoshades of darker and less dark, so that she saw where the rocks stood, and how they sank with edges that cut like swords down and ever down intothe abysses; and how here a deep ravine was rent between them, and therewere breaks and scars as though some one had caught the jagged pointswith wounded hand or foot, struggling up the perpendicular surfacetowards the little ray of light, like a tiny star which shone as onimmeasurable heights to show where life was. As she travelled deeper anddeeper, it was a wonder to see how far that little ray penetrated downand down through gulfs of darkness, blue and cold like the shimmer of adiamond, and even when it could be seen no more, sent yet a shadowyrefraction, a line of something less black than the darkness, alightening amid the gloom, a something indefinable which was hope. Therocks were more cruel than imagination could conceive, --sometimes pointedand sharp like knives, sometimes smooth and upright as a wall with nohold for the climber, sometimes moving under the touch, with stones thatrolled and crushed the bleeding feet; and though the solid masses weredistinguishable from the lighter darkness of the air, yet it could onlybe in groping that the travellers by that way could find where anyfoothold was. The traveller who came from above, and who had theprivilege of her happiness, sank down as if borne on wings, yet neededall her courage not to be afraid of the awful rocks that rose all aboveand around her, perpendicular in the gloom. And the great blast of an icywind swept upwards like something flying upon great wings, so tremendouswas the force of it, whirling from the depths below, sucked upwards bythe very warmth of the life above; so that the little Pilgrim herselfcaught at the rocks that she might not be swept again towards the top, ordashed against the stony pinnacles that stood up on every side. She wasglad when she found a little platform under her feet for a moment whereshe could rest, and also because she had come, not from curiosity to seethat gulf, but with the hope and desire to meet some one to whom shecould be of a little comfort or help in the terrors of the way. 

While she stood for a moment to get her breath, she became sensible thatsome living thing was near; and putting out her hand she felt that therewas round her something that was like a bastion upon a fortified wall, and immediately a hand touched hers, and a soft voice said, 'Sister, fearnot! for this is the watch-tower, and I am one of those who keep theway. ' She had started and trembled indeed, not that she feared, butbecause the delicate fabric of her being was such that every movement ofthe wind, and even those that were instinctive and belonged to the habitsof another life, betrayed themselves in her. And 'Oh, ' she said, 'I knewnot that there were any watch-towers, or any one to help, but camebecause my heart called me, if perhaps I might hold out my hand in thedarkness, and be of use where there was no light. '

'Come and stand by me, ' said the watcher; and the little Pilgrim saw thatthere was a whiteness near to her, out of which slowly shaped the face ofa fair and tender woman, whom she knew not, but loved. And though theycould scarcely see each other, yet they knew each other for sisters, andkissed and took comfort together, holding each other's hands in the midstof the awful gloom. And the little Pilgrim questioned in low and hushedtones, 'Is it to help that you are here?'

'To help when that may be; but rather to watch, and to send the news andmake it known that one is coming, that the bells of joy may be sounded, and all the blessed may rejoice. '

'Oh, ' said the little Pilgrim, 'tell me your name, that I may do youhonor, --for to gain such high promotion can be given only to the greatwho are made perfect, and to those who love most. '

'I am not great, ' said the watcher; 'but the Lord, who considers all, hasplaced me here, that I may be the first to see when one comes who is inthe dark places below. And also because there are some who say that loveis idolatry, and that the Father will not have us long for our own, therefore am I permitted to wait and watch and think the time not longfor the love I bear him. For he is mine; and when he comes I will ascendwith him to the dear country of the light, and some other who lovesenough will be promoted in my place. '

'I am not worthy, ' said the little Pilgrim. 'It is a great promotion;but oh, that we might be permitted to help, to put out a hand, or toclear the way!'

'Nay, my little sister, ' said the watcher, 'but patience must have itsperfect work; and for those who are coming help is secret. They must notsee it nor know it, for the land of darkness is beyond hope. The Fatherwill not force the will of any creature He has made, for He respects usin our nature, which is His image. And when a man will not, and will nottill the day is over, what can be done for him? He is left to his will, and is permitted to do it as it seems good in his eyes. A man's will isgreat, for it is the gift of God. But the Lord, who cannot rest while oneis miserable, still goes secretly to them, for His heart yearns afterthem. And by times they will see His face, or some thought of old willseize upon them. And some will say, "To perish upon the dark mountains isbetter than to live here. " And I have seen, ' said the watcher, 'that theLord will go with them all the way--but secretly, so that they cannot seeHim. And though it grieves His heart not to help, yet will He not, --forthey have become the creatures of their own will, and by that must theyattain. ' She put out her hand to the new-comer and drew her to the sideof the rocky wall, so that they felt the sweep of the wind in theirfaces; but were not driven before it. 'And come, ' she said, 'for two ofus together will be like a great light to those who are in the darkness. They will see us like a lamp, and it will cheer them, though they knownot why we are here. Listen!' she cried. And the little Pilgrim, holdingfast the hand of the watcher, listened and looked down upon the awfulway; and underneath the sweep of the icy wind was a small sharp sound asof a stone rolling or a needle of rock that broke and fell, like thesounds that are in a wood when some creature moves, though too far offfor footstep to sound. 'Listen!' said the watcher; and her face so shonewith joy that the little Pilgrim saw it clearly, like the shining of themorning in the midst of the darkness. 'He comes!'

'Oh, sister!' she cried, 'is it he whom you love above all the rest?Is it he?'

The watcher smiled and said, 'If it is not he, yet is it a brother; ifit is not he now, yet his time will come. And in every one who passes, Ihope to see his face; and the more that come, the more certain it isthat he will come. And the time seems not long for the love I bear him. And it is for this that the Lord has so considered me. Listen! for someone comes. '

And there came to these watchers the strangest sight; for there flew pastthem while they gazed a man who seemed to be carried upon the sweep ofthe wind. In the midst of the darkness they could see the faint white inhis face, with eyes of flame and lips set firm, whirled forward upon thewind, which would have dashed him against the rocks; but as he whirledpast, he caught with his hand the needles of the opposite peaks, and wasswung high over a great chasm, and landed upon a higher height, high overtheir heads. And for a moment they could hear, like a pulsation throughthe depths, the hard panting of his breath; then, with scarcely a momentfor rest, they heard the sound of his progress onward, as if he didbattle with the mountain, and his own swiftness carried him like anotherwind. It had taken less than a moment to sweep him past, quicker than theflight of a bird, as sudden as a lightning flash. The little Pilgrimfollowed him with her eager ears, wondering if he would leap thus intothe country of light and take heaven by storm, or whether he would fallupon the heavenly hills, and lie prostrate in weariness and exhaustion, like him to whom she had ministered. She followed him with her ears, forthe sound of his progress was with crashing of rocks and a swift movementin the air; but she was called back by the pressure of the hand of thewatcher, who did not, like the little Pilgrim, follow him who thus rushedthrough space as far as there was sound or sight of him, but had turnedagain to the lower side, and was gazing once more, and listening for thelittle noises in the gulf below. The little Pilgrim remembered herfriend's hope, and said softly, 'It was not he?' And the watcher claspedher hand again, and answered, 'It was a dear brother. I have sounded thesilver bells for him; and soon we shall hear them answering from theheights above. And another time it will be he. ' And they kissed eachother because they understood each the other in her heart. 

And then they talked together of the old life when all things began; andof the wonderful things they had learned concerning the love of theFather and the Son; and how all the world was held by them andpenetrated through and through by threads of love, so that it couldnever fail. And the darkness seemed light round them; and they forgotfor a little that the wind was not as a summer breeze. Then once morethe hand of the watcher pressed that of her companion, and bade her hushand listen; and they sat together holding their breath, straining theirears. Then heard they faint sounds which were very different from thosemade by him who had been driven past them like an arrow from abow, --first as of something falling, but very far away, and a faintsound as of a foot which slipped. The listeners did not say a word toeach other; they sat still and listened, scarcely drawing their breath. The darkness had no voice; it could not be but that some traveller wasthere, though hidden deep, deep in the gloom, only betrayed by thesound. There was a long pause, and the watcher held fast the littlePilgrim's hand, and betrayed to her the longing in her heart; for thoughshe was already blessed beyond all blessedness known on earth, yet hadshe not forgotten the love that had begun on earth, but was forevermore. She murmured to herself and said, 'If it is not he, it is a brother; andthe more that come, the more sure it is that he will come. Littlesister, is there one for whom you watch?'

'There is no one, ' the Pilgrim said, --'but all. '

'And so care I for all, ' cried the watcher; and she drew her companionwith her to the edge of the abyss, and they sat down upon it low amongthe rocks to escape the rushing of the wind. And they sang together asoft song; 'For if he should hear us, ' she said, 'it may give himcourage. ' And there they sat and sang; and the white of their garmentsand of their heavenly faces showed like a light in the deep gloom, sothat he who was toiling upwards might see that speck above him, and beencouraged to continue upon his way. 

Sometimes he fell, and they could hear the moan he made, --for every soundcame upwards, however small and faint it might be, --and sometimes draggedhimself along, so that they heard his movement up some shelf of rock. Andas the Pilgrim looked, she saw other and other dim whitenesses along theravines of the dark mountains, and knew that she was not the only one, but that many had come to watch and look for the coming of those who hadbeen lost. 

Time was as nothing to these heavenly watchers; but they knew how longand terrible were the moments to those upon the way. Sometimes therewould be silence like the silence of long years; and fear came upon themthat the wayfarer had turned back, or that he had fallen, and laysuffering at the bottom of some gulf, or had been swept by the wind uponsome icy peak and dashed against the rocks. Then anon, while theylistened and held their breath, a little sound would strike again intothe silence; bringing back hope; and again and again all would be still. The little Pilgrim held her companion's hand; and the thought wentthrough her mind that were she watching for one whom she loved above therest, her heart would fail. But the watcher answered her as if she hadspoken, and said, 'Oh, no, oh, no; for if it is not he, it is a brother;and the Lord give them joy!' But they sang no more, their hearts beingfaint with suspense and with eagerness to hear every sound. 

Then in the great chill of the silence, suddenly, and not far off, camethe sound of one who spoke. He murmured to himself and said, 'Who cancontinue on this terrible way? The night is black like hell, and therecomes no morning. It was better in the land of darkness, for still wecould see the face of man, though not God. ' The muffled voice shook atthat word, and then was still suddenly, as though it had been a flame andthe wind had blown it out. And for a moment there was silence; untilsuddenly it broke forth once more, --

'What is this that has come to me that I can say the name of God? Ittortures no longer, it is as balm. But He is far off and hears nothing. He called us and we answered not. Now it is we who call, and He will nothear. I will lie down and die. It cannot be that a man must live and liveforever in pain and anguish. Here will I lie, and it will end. O Thouwhose face I have seen in the night, make it possible for a man to die!'

The watcher loosed herself from her companion's clasp, and stood uprightupon the edge of the cliff, clasping her hands together and saying low, as to herself, 'Father, Father!' as one who cannot refrain from thatappeal, but who knows the Father loves best, and that to intercede isvain; and longing was in her face and joy. For it was he, and she knewthat he could not now fail, but would reach to the celestial country andto the shining of the sun; yet that it was not hers to help him, nor anyman's, nor angel's. But the little Pilgrim was ignorant, not having beentaught; and she committed herself to those depths, though she fearedthem, and though she knew not what she could do. And once more the denseair closed over her, and the vacancy swallowed her up, and when shereached the rocks below, there lay something at her feet which she feltto be a man; but she could not see him nor touch him, and when she triedto speak, her voice died away in her throat and made no sound. Whether itwas the wind that caught it and swept it quite away, or that the well ofthat depth profound sucked every note upwards, or whether because it wasnot permitted that either man or angel should come out of their sphere, or help be given which was forbidden, the little Pilgrim knew not, --fornever had it been said to her that she should stand aside where need was. And surprise which was stronger than the icy wind, and for a moment agreat dismay, took hold upon her, --for she understood not how it was thatthe bond of silence should bind her, and that she should be unable to putforth her hand to help him whom she heard moaning and murmuring, butcould not see. And scarcely could her feet keep hold of the awful rock, or her form resist the upward sweep of the wind; but though he saw hernot nor she him, yet could not she leave him in his weakness and misery, saying to herself that even if she could do nothing, it must be well thata little love should be near. 

Then she heard him speak again, crouching under the rock at her feet;and he said faintly to himself, 'That was no dream. In the land ofdarkness there are no dreams nor voices that speak within us. On theearth they were never silent struggling and crying; but there--all blankand still. Therefore it was no dream. It was One who came and looked mein the face; and love was in His eyes. I have not seen love, oh, for solong! But it was no dream. If God is a dream I know not, but love I know. And He said to me, "Arise and go. " But to whom must I go? The words arewords that once I knew, and the face I knew. But to whom, to whom?'

The little Pilgrim cried aloud, so that she thought the rocks must berent by the vehemence of her cry, calling like the other, 'Father, Father, Father!' as if her heart would burst; and it was like despair tothink that she made no sound, and that the brother could not hear her wholay thus fainting at her feet. Yet she could not stop, but went on cryinglike a child that has lost its way; for to whom could a child call but toher father, and all the more when she cannot understand? And she calledout and said that God was not His name save to strangers, if there areany strangers, but that His name was Father, and it was to Him that allmust go. And all her being thrilled like a bird with its song, so thatthe very air stirred; yet no voice came. And she lifted up her face tothe watcher above, and beheld where she stood holding up her hands alittle whiteness in the great dark. But though these two were calling andcalling, the silence was dumb. And neither of them could take him by thehand nor lift him up, nor show him, far, far above, the little diamond ofthe light, but were constrained to stand still and watch, seeing that hewas one of those who are beyond hope. 

After she had waited a long time, he stirred again in the dark andmurmured to himself once more, saying low, 'I have slept and amstrong. And while I was sleeping He has come again; He has looked atme again. And somewhere I will find Him. I will arise and go; I willarise and go--'

And she heard him move at her feet and grope over the rock with hishands; but it was smooth as snow with no holding, and slippery as ice. And the watcher stood above and the Pilgrim below, but could not helphim. He groped and groped, and murmured to himself, ever saying, 'Iwill arise and go. ' And their hearts were wrung that they could notspeak to him nor touch him nor help him. But at last in the dark thereburst forth a great cry, 'Who said it?' and then a sound of weeping, and amid the weeping, words. 'As when I was a child, as when hopewas--I will arise and I will go--to my Father, to my Father! for now Iremember, and I know. '

The little Pilgrim sank down into a crevice of the rocks in the weaknessof her great joy. And something passed her mounting up and up; and itseemed to her that he had touched her shoulder or her hand unawares, andthat the dumb cry in her heart had reached him, and that it had been goodfor him that a little love stood by, though only to watch and to weep. And she listened and heard him go on and on; and she herself ascendedhigher to the watch-tower. And the watcher was gone who had waited therefor her beloved, for she had gone with him, as the Lord had promised her, to be the one who should lead him to the holy city and to see theFather's face. And it was given to the little Pilgrim to sound the silverbells and to warn all the bands of the blessed, and the great angels andlords of the whole world, that from out the land of darkness and from theregions beyond hope another had come. 

She remained not there long, because there were many who sought thatplace that they might be the first to see if one beloved was among thetravellers by that terrible way, and to welcome the brother or sister whowas the most dear to them of all the children of the Father. But it wasthus that she learned the last lesson of all that is in heaven and thatis in earth, and in the heights above and in the depths below, which thegreat angels desire to look into, and all the princes and powers. And itis this: that there is that which is beyond hope yet not beyond love; andthat hope may fail and be no longer possible, but love cannot fail, --forhope is of men, but love is the Lord; and there is but one thing which toHim is not possible, which is to forget; and that even when the Fatherhas hidden His face and help is forbidden, yet there goes He secretly andcannot forbear. 

But if there were any deep more profound, and to which access was not, either from the dark mountains or by any other way, the Pilgrim was nottaught, nor ever found any knowledge, either among the angels who knowall things, or among her brothers who were the children of men. 

III. 

THE LAND OF DARKNESS. 

I found myself standing on my feet, with the tingling sensation of havingcome down rapidly upon the ground from a height. There was a similarfeeling in my head, as of the whirling and sickening sensation of passingdownwards through the air, like the description Dante gives of hisdescent upon Geryon. My mind, curiously enough, was sufficientlydisengaged to think of that, or at least to allow swift passage for therecollection through my thoughts. All the aching of wonder, doubt, andfear which I had been conscious of a little while before was gone. Therewas no distinct interval between the one condition and the other, nor inmy fall (as I supposed it must have been) had I any consciousness ofchange. There was the whirling of the air, resisting my passage, yetgiving way under me in giddy circles, and then the sharp shock of oncemore feeling under my feet something solid, which struck, yet sustained. After a little while the giddiness above and the tingling below passedaway, and I felt able to look about me and discern where I was. But notall at once; the things immediately about me impressed me first, then thegeneral aspect of the new place. 

First of all the light, which was lurid, as if a thunder-storm werecoming on. I looked up involuntarily to see if it had begun to rain; butthere was nothing of the kind, though what I saw above me was a loweringcanopy of cloud, dark, threatening, with a faint reddish tint diffusedupon the vaporous darkness. It was, however, quite sufficiently clear tosee everything, and there was a good deal to see. I was in a street ofwhat seemed a great and very populous place. There were shops on eitherside, full apparently of all sorts of costly wares. There was a continualcurrent of passengers up and down on both sides of the way, and in themiddle of the street carriages of every description, humble and splendid. The noise was great and ceaseless; the traffic continual. Some of theshops were most brilliantly lighted, attracting one's eyes in the sombrelight outside, which, however, had just enough of day in it to make thesespots of illumination look sickly. Most of the places thus distinguishedwere apparently bright with the electric or some other scientific light;and delicate machines of every description, brought to the greatestperfection, were in some windows, as were also many fine productions ofart, but mingled with the gaudiest and coarsest in a way which struck mewith astonishment. I was also much surprised by the fact that thetraffic, which was never stilled for a moment, seemed to have no sort ofregulation. Some carriages dashed along, upsetting the smaller vehiclesin their way, without the least restraint or order, either, as it seemed, from their own good sense or from the laws and customs of the place. Whenan accident happened, there was a great shouting, and sometimes a furiousencounter; but nobody seemed to interfere. This was the first impressionmade upon me. The passengers on the pavement were equally regardless. Iwas myself pushed out of the way, first to one side, then to another, hustled when I paused for a moment, trodden upon and driven about. Iretreated soon to the doorway of a shop, from whence with a little moresafety I could see what was going on. The noise made my head ring. Itseemed to me that I could not hear myself think. If this were to go onforever, I said to myself, I should soon go mad. 

'Oh, no, ' said some one behind me, 'not at all. You will get used to it;you will be glad of it. One does not want to hear one's thoughts; most ofthem are not worth hearing. '

I turned round and saw it was the master of the shop, who had come to thedoor on seeing me. He had the usual smile of a man who hoped to sell hiswares; but to my horror and astonishment, by some process which I couldnot understand, I saw that he was saying to himself, 'What a d----d fool!here's another of those cursed wretches, d---- him!' all with the samesmile. I started back, and answered him as hotly, 'What do you mean bycalling me a d----d fool? fool yourself, and all the rest of it. Is thisthe way you receive strangers here?'

'Yes, ' he said with the same smile, 'this is the way; and I only describeyou as you are, as you will soon see. Will you walk in and look over myshop? Perhaps you will find something to suit you if you are just settingup, as I suppose. '

I looked at him closely, but this time I could not see that he wassaying anything beyond what was expressed by his lips: and I followedhim into the shop, principally because it was quieter than the street, and without any intention of buying, --for what should I buy in a strangeplace where I had no settled habitation, and which probably I was onlypassing through?

'I will look at your things, ' I said, in a way which I believe I had, ofperhaps undue pretension. I had never been over-rich, or of very elevatedstation; but I was believed by my friends (or enemies) to have aninclination to make myself out something more important than I was. 'Iwill look at your things, and possibly I may find something that may suitme; but with all the _ateliers_ of Paris and London to draw from, it isscarcely to be expected that in a place like this--'

Here I stopped to draw my breath, with a good deal of confusion; for Iwas unwilling to let him see that I did not know where I was. 

'A place like this, ' said the shop-keeper, with a little laugh whichseemed to me full of mockery, 'will supply you better, you will find, than--any other place. At least you will find it the only placepracticable, ' he added. 'I perceive you are a stranger here. '

'Well, I may allow myself to be so, more or less. I have not had time toform much acquaintance with--the place; what--do you call the place?--itsformal name, I mean, ' I said with a great desire to keep up the air ofsuperior information. Except for the first moment, I had not experiencedthat strange power of looking into the man below the surface which hadfrightened me. Now there occurred another gleam of insight, which gave meonce more a sensation of alarm. I seemed to see a light of hatred andcontempt below his smile; and I felt that he was not in the least takenin by the air which I assumed. 

'The name of the place, ' he said, 'is not a pretty one. I hear thegentlemen who come to my shop say that it is not to be named to earspolite; and I am sure your ears are very polite. ' He said this with themost offensive laugh, and I turned upon him and answered him, withoutmincing matters, with a plainness of speech which startled myself, butdid not seem to move him, for he only laughed again. 'Are you notafraid, ' I said, 'that I will leave your shop and never enter it more?'

'Oh, it helps to pass the time, ' he said; and without any further commentbegan to show me very elaborate and fine articles of furniture. I hadalways been attracted to this sort of thing, and had longed to buy sucharticles for my house when I had one, but never had it in my power. Now Ihad no house, nor any means of paying so far as I knew, but I felt quiteat my ease about buying, and inquired into the prices with the greatestcomposure. 

'They are just the sort of thing I want. I will take these, I think; butyou must set them aside for me, for I do not at the present momentexactly know--'

'You mean you have got no rooms to put them in, ' said the master of theshop. 'You must get a house directly, that's all. If you're only up toit, it is easy enough. Look about until you find something you like, andthen--take possession. '

'Take possession'--I was so much surprised that I stared at himwith mingled indignation and surprise--'of what belongs to anotherman?' I said. 

I was not conscious of anything ridiculous in my look. I was indignant, which is not a state of mind in which there is any absurdity; but theshop-keeper suddenly burst into a storm of laughter. He laughed till heseemed almost to fall into convulsions, with a harsh mirth which remindedme of the old image of the crackling of thorns, and had neither amusementnor warmth in it; and presently this was echoed all around, and lookingup, I saw grinning faces full of derision bent upon me from every side, from the stairs which led to the upper part of the house and from thedepths of the shop behind, --faces with pens behind their ears, faces inworkmen's caps, all distended from ear to ear, with a sneer and a mockand a rage of laughter which nearly sent me mad. I hurled I don't knowwhat imprecations at them as I rushed out, stopping my ears in a paroxysmof fury and mortification. My mind was so distracted by this occurrencethat I rushed without knowing it upon some one who was passing, and threwhim down with the violence of my exit; upon which I was set on by a partyof half a dozen ruffians, apparently his companions, who would, Ithought, kill me, but who only flung me, wounded, bleeding, and feelingas if every bone in my body had been broken, down on the pavement, whenthey went away, laughing too. 

I picked myself up from the edge of the causeway, aching and sore fromhead to foot, scarcely able to move, yet conscious that if I did not getmyself out of the way, one or other of the vehicles which were dashingalong would run over me. It would be impossible to describe the miserablesensations, both of body and mind, with which I dragged myself across thecrowded pavement, not without curses and even kicks from the passers-by, and avoiding the shop from which I still heard those shrieks of devilishlaughter, gathered myself up in the shelter of a little projection of awall, where I was for the moment safe. The pain which I felt was asnothing to the sense of humiliation, the mortification, the rage withwhich I was possessed. There is nothing in existence more dreadful thanrage which is impotent, which cannot punish or avenge, which has torestrain itself and put up with insults showered upon it. I had neverknown before what that helpless, hideous exasperation was; and I washumiliated beyond description, brought down--I, whose inclination it wasto make more of myself than was justifiable--to the aspect of a miserableruffian beaten in a brawl, soiled, covered with mud and dust, my clothestorn, my face bruised and disfigured, --all this within half an hour orthere about of my arrival in a strange place where nobody knew me orcould do me justice! I kept looking out feverishly for some one with anair of authority to whom I could appeal. Sooner or later somebody must goby, who, seeing me in such a plight, must inquire how it came about, musthelp me and vindicate me. I sat there for I cannot tell how long, expecting every moment that were it but a policeman, somebody wouldnotice and help me; but no one came. Crowds seemed to sweep by without apause, --all hurrying, restless; some with anxious faces, as if any delaywould be mortal; some in noisy groups intercepting the passage of theothers. Sometimes one would pause to point me out to his comrades with ashout of derision at my miserable plight, or if by a change of posture Igot outside the protection of my wall, would kick me back with a coarseinjunction to keep out of the way. No one was sorry for me; not a look ofcompassion, not a word of inquiry was wasted upon me; no representativeof authority appeared. I saw a dozen quarrels while I lay there, cries ofthe weak, and triumphant shouts of the strong; but that was all. 

I was drawn after a while from the fierce and burning sense of my owngrievances by a querulous voice quite close to me. 'This is my corner, 'it said. 'I've sat here for years, and I have a right to it. And here youcome, you big ruffian, because you know I haven't got the strength topush you away. '

'Who are you?' I said, turning round horror-stricken; for close beside mewas a miserable man, apparently in the last stage of disease. He was paleas death, yet eaten up with sores. His body was agitated by a nervoustrembling. He seemed to shuffle along on hands and feet, as though theordinary mode of locomotion was impossible to him, and yet was inpossession of all his limbs. Pain was written in his face. I drew away toleave him room, with mingled pity and horror that this poor wretch shouldbe the partner of the only shelter I could find within so short a time ofmy arrival. I who--It was horrible, shameful, humiliating; and yet thesuffering in his wretched face was so evident that I could not but feel apang of pity too. 'I have nowhere to go, ' I said. 'I am--a stranger. Ihave been badly used, and nobody seems to care. '

'No, ' he said, 'nobody cares; don't you look for that. Why should they?Why, you look as if you were sorry for _me!_ What a joke!' he murmuredto himself, --'what a joke! Sorry for some one else! What a fool thefellow must be!'

'You look, ' I said, 'as if you were suffering horribly; and you say youhave come here for years. '

'Suffering! I should think I was, ' said the sick man; 'but what is thatto you? Yes; I've been here for years, --oh, years! that meansnothing, --for longer than can be counted. Suffering is not the word. It'storture; it's agony! But who cares? Take your leg out of my way. '

I drew myself out of his way from a sort of habit, though against mywill, and asked, from habit too, 'Are you never any better than now?'

He looked at me more closely, and an air of astonishment came over hisface. 'What d'ye want here, ' he said, 'pitying a man? That's somethingnew here. No; I'm not always so bad, if you want to know. I get better, and then I go and do what makes me bad again, and that's how it will goon; and I choose it to be so, and you needn't bring any of your d----dpity here. '

'I may ask, at least, why aren't you looked after? Why don't you get intosome hospital?' I said. 

'Hospital!' cried the sick man, and then he too burst out into thatfurious laugh, the most awful sound I ever had heard. Some of thepassers-by stopped to hear what the joke was, and surrounded me with oncemore a circle of mockers. 

'Hospitals! perhaps you would like a whole Red Cross Society, withambulances and all arranged?' cried one. 'Or the _Misericordia_!' shoutedanother. I sprang up to my feet, crying, 'Why not?' with an impulse ofrage which gave me strength. Was I never to meet with anything but thisfiendish laughter? 'There's some authority, I suppose, ' I cried in myfury. 'It is not the rabble that is the only master here, I hope. ' Butnobody took the least trouble to hear what I had to say for myself. Thelast speaker struck me on the mouth, and called me an accursed fool fortalking of what I did not understand; and finally they all swept on andpassed away. 

I had been, as I thought, severely injured when I dragged myself intothat corner to save myself from the crowd; but I sprang up now as ifnothing had happened to me. My wounds had disappeared; my bruises weregone. I was as I had been when I dropped, giddy and amazed, upon thesame pavement, how long--an hour?--before? It might have been an hour, it might have been a year, I cannot tell. The light was the same asever, the thunderous atmosphere unchanged. Day, if it was day, hadmade no progress; night, if it was evening, had come no nearer, --allwas the same. 

As I went on again presently, with a vexed and angry spirit, regarding onevery side around me the endless surging of the crowd, and feeling aloneliness, a sense of total abandonment and solitude, which I cannotdescribe, there came up to me a man of remarkable appearance. That he wasa person of importance, of great knowledge and information, could not bedoubted. He was very pale, and of a worn but commanding aspect. The linesof his face were deeply drawn; his eyes were sunk under high archedbrows, from which they looked out as from caves, full of a fieryimpatient light. His thin lips were never quite without a smile; but itwas not a smile in which any pleasure was. He walked slowly, nothurrying, like most of the passengers. He had a reflective look, as ifpondering many things. He came up to me suddenly, without introduction orpreliminary, and took me by the arm. 'What object had you in talking ofthese antiquated institutions?' he said. And I saw in his mind the gleamof the thought, which seemed to be the first with all, that I was a fool, and that it was the natural thing to wish me harm, just as in the earthabove it was the natural thing, professed at least, to wish well, --tosay, Good-morning, good-day, by habit and without thought. In thisstrange country the stranger was received with a curse, and it woke ananswer not unlike the hasty 'Curse you, then, also!' which seemed to comewithout any will of mine through my mind. But this provoked only a smilefrom my new friend. He took no notice. He was disposed to examine me, tofind some amusement perhaps--how could I tell?--in what I might say. 

'What antiquated things?'

'Are you still so slow of understanding? What were they--hospitals? Thepretences of a world that can still deceive itself. Did you expect tofind them here?'

'I expected to find--how should I know?' I said, bewildered--'someshelter for a poor wretch where he could be cared for, not to be leftthere to die in the street. Expected! I never thought. I took it forgranted--'

'To die in the street!' he cried with a smile and a shrug of hisshoulders. 'You'll learn better by and by. And if he did die in thestreet, what then? What is that to you?'

'To me!' I turned and looked at him, amazed; but he had somehow shut hissoul, so that I could see nothing but the deep eyes in their caves, andthe smile upon the close-shut mouth. 'No more to me than to any one. Ionly spoke for humanity's sake, as--a fellow-creature. '

My new acquaintance gave way to a silent laugh within himself, which wasnot so offensive as the loud laugh of the crowd, but yet was moreexasperating than words can say. 'You think that matters? But it does nothurt you that he should he in pain. It would do you no good if he were toget well. Why should you trouble yourself one way or the other? Let himdie--if he can--That makes no difference to you or me. '

'I must be dull indeed, ' I cried, --'slow of understanding, as you say. This is going back to the ideas of times beyond knowledge--beforeChristianity--' As soon as I had said this I felt somehow--I could nottell how--as if my voice jarred, as if something false and unnatural wasin what I said. My companion gave my arm a twist as if with a shock ofsurprise, then laughed in his inward way again. 

'We don't think much of that here, nor of your modern pretences ingeneral. The only thing that touches you and me is what hurts or helpsourselves. To be sure, it all comes to the same thing, --for I suppose itannoys you to see that wretch writhing; it hurts your more delicate, highly-cultivated consciousness. '

'It has nothing to do with my consciousness, ' I cried angrily; 'it is ashame to let a fellow-creature suffer if we can prevent it. '

'Why shouldn't he suffer?' said my companion. We passed as he spoke someother squalid, wretched creatures shuffling among the crowd, whom hekicked with his foot, calling forth a yell of pain and curses. This heregarded with a supreme contemptuous calm which stupefied me. Nor did anyof the passers-by show the slightest inclination to take the part of thesufferers. They laughed, or shouted out a gibe, or what was still morewonderful, went on with a complete unaffected indifference, as if allthis was natural. I tried to disengage my arm in horror and dismay, buthe held me fast with a pressure that hurt me. 'That's the question, ' hesaid. 'What have we to do with it? Your fictitious consciousness makes itpainful to you. To me, on the contrary, who take the view of nature, itis a pleasurable feeling. It enhances the amount of ease, whatever thatmay be, which I enjoy. I am in no pain. That brute who is'--and heflicked with a stick he carried the uncovered wound of a wretch upon theroadside--'makes me more satisfied with my condition. Ah! you think itis I who am the brute? You will change your mind by and by. '

'Never!' I cried, wrenching my arm from his with an effort, 'if I shouldlive a hundred years. '

'A hundred years, --a drop in the bucket!' he said with his silent laugh. 'You will live forever, and you will come to my view; and we shall meetin the course of ages, from time to time, to compare notes. I would saygood-by after the old fashion, but you are but newly arrived, and I willnot treat you so badly as that. ' With which he parted from me, waving hishand, with his everlasting horrible smile. 

'Good-by!' I said to myself, 'good-by! why should it be treating me badlyto say good-by--'

I was startled by a buffet on the mouth. 'Take that!' cried some one, 'to teach you how to wish the worst of tortures to people who have doneyou no harm. '

'What have I said? I meant no harm; I repeated only what is the commonestcivility, the merest good manners. '

'You wished, ' said the man who had struck me, --'I won't repeat the words:to me, for it was I only that heard them, the awful company that hurtsmost, that sets everything before us, both past and to come, and cutslike a sword and burns like fire. I'll say it to yourself, and see how itfeels. God be with you! There! it is said, and we all must bear it, thanks, you fool and accursed, to you. '

And then there came a pause over all the place, an awfulstillness, --hundreds of men and women standing clutching with desperatemovements at their hearts as if to tear them out, moving their heads asif to dash them against the wall, wringing their hands, with a look uponall their convulsed faces which I can never forget. They all turned tome, cursing me with those horrible eyes of anguish. And everything wasstill; the noise all stopped for a moment, the air all silent, with asilence that could be felt. And then suddenly out of the crowd there camea great piercing cry; and everything began again exactly as before. 

While this pause occurred, and while I stood wondering, bewildered, understanding nothing, there came over me a darkness, a blackness, asense of misery such as never in all my life--though I have knowntroubles enough--I had felt before. All that had happened to methroughout my existence seemed to rise pale and terrible in a hundredscenes before me, --all momentary, intense, as if each was the presentmoment. And in each of these scenes I saw what I had never seen before. Isaw where I had taken the wrong instead of the right step, in whatwantonness, with what self-will it had been done; how God (I shuddered atthe name) had spoken and called me, and even entreated, and I hadwithstood and refused. All the evil I had done came back, and spreaditself out before my eyes; and I loathed it, yet knew that I had chosenit, and that it would be with me forever. I saw it all in the twinklingof an eye, in a moment, while I stood there, and all men with me, in thehorror of awful thought. Then it ceased as it had come, instantaneously, and the noise and the laughter, and the quarrels and cries, and all thecommotion of this new bewildering place, in a moment began again. I hadseen no one while this strange paroxysm lasted. When it disappeared, Icame to myself, emerging as from a dream, and looked into the face of theman whose words, not careless like mine, had brought it upon us. Our eyesmet, and his were surrounded by curves and lines of anguish which wereterrible to see. 

'Well, ' he said with a short laugh, which was forced and harsh, 'how doyou like it? that is what happens when--If it came often, who couldendure it?' He was not like the rest. There was no sneer upon his face, no gibe at my simplicity. Even now, when all had recovered, he was stillquivering with something that looked like a nobler pain. His face wasvery grave, the lines deeply drawn in it; and he seemed to be seeking noamusement or distraction, nor to take any part in the noise and tumultwhich was going on around. 

'Do you know what that cry meant?' he said. 'Did you hear that cry? Itwas some one who saw--even here once in a long time, they say, it canbe seen--'

'What can be seen?'

He shook his head, looking at me with a meaning which I could notinterpret. It was beyond the range of my thoughts. I came to know after, or I never could have made this record. But on that subject he said nomore. He turned the way I was going, though it mattered nothing what wayI went, for all were the same to me. 'You are one of the new-comers?' hesaid; 'you have not been long here--'

'Tell me, ' I cried, 'what you mean by _here_. Where are we? How can onetell who has fallen--he knows not whence or where? What is this place? Ihave never seen anything like it. It seems to me that I hate it already, though I know not what it is. '

He shook his head once more. 'You will hate it more and more, ' he said;'but of these dreadful streets you will never be free, unless--' And herehe stopped again. 

'Unless--what? If it is possible, I will be free of them, and thatbefore long. '

He smiled at me faintly, as we smile at children, but not with derision. 

'How shall you do that? Between this miserable world and all others, there is a great gulf fixed. It is full of all the bitterness and tearsthat come from all the universe. These drop from them, but stagnate here. We, you perceive, have no tears, not even at moments--' Then, 'You willsoon be accustomed to all this, ' he said. 'You will fall into the way. Perhaps you will be able to amuse yourself to make it passable. Many do. There are a number of fine things to be seen here. If you are curious, come with me and I will show you. Or work, --there is even work. There isonly one thing that is impossible, or if not impossible--' And here hepaused again and raised his eyes to the dark clouds and lurid skyoverhead. 'The man who gave that cry! if I could but find him! he musthave seen--'

'What could he see?' I asked. But there arose in my mind something likecontempt. A visionary! who could not speak plainly, who broke off intomysterious inferences, and appeared to know more than he would say. Itseemed foolish to waste time, when evidently there was still so much tosee, in the company of such a man; and I began already to feel more athome. There was something in that moment of anguish which had wrought astrange familiarity in me with my surroundings. It was so great a reliefto return out of the misery of that sharp and horrible self-realization, to what had come to be, in comparison, easy and well known. I had nodesire to go back and grope among the mysteries and anguish so suddenlyrevealed. I was glad to be free from them, to be left to myself, to get alittle pleasure perhaps like the others. While these thoughts passedthrough my mind, I had gone on without any active impulse of my own, aseverybody else did; and my latest companion had disappeared. He saw, nodoubt, without any need for words, what my feelings were. And I proceededon my way. I felt better as I got more accustomed to the place, orperhaps it was the sensation of relief after that moment of indescribablepain. As for the sights in the streets, I began to grow used to them. Thewretched creatures who strolled or sat about with signs of sickness orwounds upon them disgusted me only, they no longer called forth my pity. I began to feel ashamed of my silly questions about the hospital. All thesame, it would have been a good thing to have had some receptacle forthem, into which they might have been driven out of the way. I felt aninclination to push them aside as I saw other people do, but was a littleashamed of that impulse too; and so I went on. There seemed no quietstreets, so far as I could make out, in the place. Some were smaller, meaner, with a different kind of passengers, but the same hubbub andunresting movement everywhere. I saw no signs of melancholy orseriousness; active pain, violence, brutality, the continual shock ofquarrels and blows, but no pensive faces about, no sorrowfulness, nor thekind of trouble which brings thought. Everybody was fully occupied, pushing on as if in a race, pausing for nothing. 

The glitter of the lights, the shouts, and sounds of continual going, theendless whirl of passers-by, confused and tired me after a while. I wentas far out as I could go to what seemed the out-skirts of the place, where I could by glimpses perceive a low horizon all lurid and glowing, which seemed to sweep round and round. Against it in the distance stoodup the outline, black against that red glow, of other towers andhouse-tops, so many and great that there was evidently another townbetween us and the sunset, if sunset it was. I have seen a western skylike it when there were storms about, and all the colors of the sky wereheightened and darkened by angry influences. The distant town roseagainst it, cutting the firmament so that it might have been tongues offlame flickering between the dark solid outlines; and across the wasteopen country which lay between the two cities, there came a distant humlike the sound of the sea, which was in reality the roar of that othermultitude. The country between showed no greenness or beauty; it lay darkunder the dark overhanging sky. Here and there seemed a cluster of gianttrees scathed as if by lightning, their bare boughs standing up as highas the distant towers, their trunks like black columns without foliage. Openings here and there, with glimmering lights, looked like the mouthsof mines; but of passengers there were scarcely any. A figure here andthere flew along as if pursued, imperfectly seen, a shadow only a littledarker than the space about. And in contrast with the sound of the city, here was no sound at all, except the low roar on either side, and avague cry or two from the openings of the mine, --a scene all drawn indarkness, in variations of gloom, deriving scarcely any light at all fromthe red and gloomy burning of that distant evening sky. 

A faint curiosity to go forwards, to see what the mines were, perhaps toget a share in what was brought up from them, crossed my mind. But I wasafraid of the dark, of the wild uninhabited savage look of the landscape;though when I thought of it, there seemed no reason why a narrow stretchof country between two great towns should be alarming. But the impressionwas strong and above reason. I turned back to the street in which I hadfirst alighted, and which seemed to end in a great square full of people. In the middle there was a stage erected, from which some one wasdelivering an oration or address of some sort. He stood beside a longtable, upon which lay something which I could not clearly distinguish, except that it seemed alive, and moved, or rather writhed with convulsivetwitchings, as if trying to get free of the bonds which confined it. Round the stage in front were a number of seats occupied by listeners, many of whom were women, whose interest seemed to be very great, some ofthem being furnished with note-books; while a great unsettled crowdcoming and going, drifted round, --many, arrested for a time as theypassed, proceeding on their way when the interest flagged, as is usual tosuch open-air assemblies. I followed two of those who pushed their way towithin a short distance of the stage, and who were strong, big men, morefitted to elbow the crowd aside than I, after my rough treatment in thefirst place, and the agitation I had passed through, could be. I wasglad, besides, to take advantage of the explanation which one was givingto the other. 'It's always fun to see this fellow demonstrate, ' he said, 'and the subject to-day's a capital one. Let's get well forward, and seeall that's going on. '

'Which subject do you mean?' said the other; 'the theme or the example?'And they both laughed, though I did not seize the point of the wit. 

'Well, both, ' said the first speaker. 'The theme is nerves; and as alesson in construction and the calculation of possibilities, it's fine. He's very clever at that. He shows how they are all strung to give asmuch pain and do as much harm as can be; and yet how well it's allmanaged, don't you know, to look the reverse. As for the example, he's acapital one--all nerves together, lying, if you like, just on thesurface, ready for the knife. '

'If they're on the surface I can't see where the fun is, ' said the other. 

'Metaphorically speaking. Of course they are just where other people'snerves are; but he's what you call a highly organized nervousspecimen. There will be plenty of fun. Hush! he is just going to begin. '

'The arrangement of these threads of being, ' said the lecturer, evidentlyresuming after a pause, 'so as to convey to the brain the mostinstantaneous messages of pain or pleasure, is wonderfully skilful andclever. I need not say to the audience before me, enlightened as it is byexperiences of the most striking kind, that the messages are less ofpleasure than of pain. They report to the brain the stroke of injury farmore often than the thrill of pleasure; though sometimes that too, nodoubt, or life could scarcely be maintained. The powers that be havefound it necessary to mingle a little sweet of pleasurable sensation, else our miserable race would certainly have found some means ofprocuring annihilation. I do not for a moment pretend to say that thepleasure is sufficient to offer a just counterbalance to the other. Noneof my hearers will, I hope, accuse me of inconsistency. I am ready toallow that in a previous condition I asserted somewhat strongly that thiswas the case; but experience has enlightened us on that point. Ourcircumstances are now understood by us all in a manner impossible whilewe were still in a condition of incompleteness. We are all convinced thatthere is no compensation. The pride of the position, of bearingeverything rather than give in, or making a submission we do not feel, ofpreserving our own will and individuality to all eternity, is the onlycompensation. I am satisfied with it, for my part. '

The orator made a pause, holding his head high, and there was a certainamount of applause. The two men before me cheered vociferously. 'That isthe right way to look at it, ' one of them said. My eyes were upon them, with no particular motive; and I could not help starting, as I sawsuddenly underneath their applause and laughter a snarl of cursing, whichwas the real expression of their thoughts. I felt disposed in the sameway to curse the speaker, though I knew no reason why. 

He went on a little farther, explaining what he meant to do; and thenturning round, approached the table. An assistant, who was waiting, uncovered it quickly. The audience stirred with quickened interest, and Iwith consternation made a step forwards, crying out with horror. Theobject on the table, writhing, twitching to get free, but bound down byevery limb, was a living man. The lecturer went forwards calmly, takinghis instruments from their case with perfect composure and coolness. 'Now, ladies and gentlemen, ' he said, and inserted the knife in theflesh, making a long clear cut in the bound arm. I shrieked out, unableto restrain myself. The sight of the deliberate wound, the blood, the cryof agony that came from the victim, the calmness of all the lookers-on, filled me with horror and rage indescribable. I felt myself clear thecrowd away with a rush, and spring on the platform, I could not tell how. 'You devil!' I cried, 'let the man go! Where is the police? Where is amagistrate? Let the man go this moment! fiends in human shape! I'll haveyou brought to justice!' I heard myself shouting wildly, as I flungmyself upon the wretched sufferer, interposing between him and the knife. It was something like this that I said. My horror and rage weredelirious, and carried me beyond all attempt at control. 

Through it all I heard a shout of laughter rising from everybody round. The lecturer laughed; the audience roared with that sound of horriblemockery which had driven me out of myself in my first experience. Allkinds of mocking cries sounded around me. 'Let him a little blood to calmhim down. ' 'Let the fool have a taste of it himself, doctor. ' Last of allcame a voice mingled with the cries of the sufferer whom I was trying toshield, 'Take him instead; curse him! take him instead. ' I was bendingover the man with my arms outstretched, protecting him, when he gave ventto this cry. And I heard immediately behind me a shout of assent, whichseemed to come from the two strong young men with whom I had beenstanding, and the sound of a rush to seize me. I looked round, half madwith terror and rage; a second more and I should have been strapped onthe table too. I made one wild bound into the midst of the crowd; andstruggling among the arms stretched out to catch me, amid the roar of thelaughter and cries--fled--fled wildly, I knew not whither, in panic andrage and horror which no words could describe. Terror winged my feet. Iflew, thinking as little of whom I met, or knocked down, or trod upon inmy way, as the others did at whom I had wondered a little while ago. 

No distinct impression of this headlong course remains in my mind, savethe sensation of mad fear such as I had never felt before. I came tomyself on the edge of the dark valley which surrounded the town. All mypursuers had dropped off before that time; and I have the recollection offlinging myself upon the ground on my face in the extremity of fatigueand exhaustion. I must have lain there undisturbed for some time. A fewsteps came and went, passing me; but no one took any notice, and theabsence of the noise and crowding gave me a momentary respite. But in myheat and fever I got no relief of coolness from the contact of the soil. I might have flung myself upon a bed of hot ashes, so much was it unlikethe dewy cool earth which I expected, upon which one can always throwone's self with a sensation of repose. Presently the uneasiness of itmade me struggle up again and look around me. I was safe; at least thecries of the pursuers had died away, the laughter which made my bloodboil offended my ears no more. The noise of the city was behind me, softened into an indefinite roar by distance, and before me stretched outthe dreary landscape in which there seemed no features of attraction. Now that I was nearer to it, I found it not so unpeopled as I thought. Atno great distance from me was the mouth of one of the mines, from whichcame an indication of subterranean lights; and I perceived that theflying figures which I had taken for travellers between one city andanother were in reality wayfarers endeavoring to keep clear of whatseemed a sort of press-gang at the openings. One of them, unable to stophimself in his flight, adopted the same expedient as myself, and threwhimself on the ground close to me when he had got beyond the range ofpursuit. It was curious that we should meet there, he flying from adanger which I was about to face, and ready to encounter that from whichI had fled. I waited for a few minutes till he had recovered his breath, and then, 'What are you running from?' I said. 'Is there any dangerthere?' The man looked up at me with the same continual question in hiseyes, --Who is this fool?

'Danger!' he said. 'Are you so new here, or such a cursed idiot, as notto know the danger of the mines? You are going across yourself, Isuppose, and then you'll see. '

'But tell me, ' I said; 'my experience may be of use to you afterwards, if you will tell me yours now. '

'Of use!' he cried, staring; 'who cares? Find out for yourself. If theyget hold of you, you will soon understand. '

I no longer took this for rudeness, but answered in his own way, cursinghim too for a fool. 'If I ask a warning I can give one; as for kindness, 'I said, 'I was not looking for that. '

At this he laughed, indeed we laughed together, --there seemed somethingridiculous in the thought; and presently he told me, for the mere reliefof talking, that round each of these pit-mouths there was a band toentrap every passer-by who allowed himself to be caught, and send himdown below to work in the mine. 'Once there, there is no telling when youmay get free, ' he said; 'one time or other most people have a taste ofit. You don't know what hard labor is if you have never been there. I hada spell once. There is neither air nor light; your blood boils in yourveins from the fervent heat; you are never allowed to rest. You are putin every kind of contortion to get at it, your limbs twisted, and yourmuscles strained. '

'For what?' I said. 

'For gold!' he cried with a flash in his eyes--'gold! There it isinexhaustible; however hard you may work, there is always more, andmore!'

'And to whom does all that belong?' I said. 'To whoever is strong enoughto get hold and keep possession, --sometimes one, sometimes another. Theonly thing you are sure of is that it will never be you. '

Why not I as well as another? was the thought that went through my mind, and my new companion spied it with a shriek of derision. 

'It is not for you nor your kind, ' he cried. 'How do you think you couldforce other people to serve _you_? Can you terrify them or hurt them, orgive them anything? You have not learned yet who are the masters here. '

This troubled me, for it was true. 'I had begun to think, ' I said, 'thatthere was no authority at all, --for every man seems to do as he pleases;you ride over one, and knock another down, or you seize a living man andcut him to pieces'--I shuddered as I thought of it--'and there is nobodyto interfere. '

'Who should interfere?' he said. 'Why shouldn't every man amuse himselfas he can? But yet for all that we've got our masters, ' he cried with ascowl, waving his clinched fist in the direction of the mines; 'you'llfind it out when you get there. '

It was a long time after this before I ventured to move, for here itseemed to me that for the moment I was safe, --outside the city, yet notwithin reach of the dangers of that intermediate space which grew clearerbefore me as my eyes became accustomed to the lurid threatening afternoonlight. One after another the fugitives came flying past me, --people whohad escaped from the armed bands whom I could now see on the watch nearthe pit's mouth. I could see too the tactics of these bands, --how theyretired, veiling the lights and the opening, when a greater number thanusual of travellers appeared on the way, and then suddenly widening out, throwing out flanking lines, surrounded and drew in the unwary. I couldeven hear the cries with which their victims disappeared over the openingwhich seemed to go down into the bowels of the earth. By and by therecame flying towards me a wretch more dreadful in aspect than any I hadseen. His scanty clothes seemed singed and burned into rags; his hair, which hung about his face unkempt and uncared for, had the same singedaspect; his skin was brown and baked. I got up as he approached, andcaught him and threw him to the ground, without heeding his struggles toget on. 'Don't you see, ' he cried with a gasp, 'they may get me again. 'He was one of those who had escaped out of the mines; but what was it tome whether they caught him again or not? I wanted to know how he had beencaught, and what he had been set to do, and how he had escaped. Whyshould I hesitate to use my superior strength when no one else did? Ikept watch over him that he should not get away. 

'You have been in the mines?' I said. 

'Let me go!' he cried. 'Do you need to ask?' and he cursed me as hestruggled, with the most terrible imprecations. 'They may get me yet. Let me go!'

'Not till you tell me, ' I cried. 'Tell me and I'll protect you. If theycome near I'll let you go. Who are they, man? I must know. '

He struggled up from the ground, clearing his hot eyes from the ashesthat were in them, and putting aside his singed hair. He gave me a glanceof hatred and impotent resistance (for I was stronger than he), and thencast a wild terrified look back. The skirmishers did not seem to remarkthat anybody had escaped, and he became gradually a little more composed. 'Who are they?' he said hoarsely. 'They're cursed wretches like you andme; and there are as many bands of them as there are mines on the road;and you'd better turn back and stay where you are. You are safe here. '

'I will not turn back, ' I said. 

'I know well enough: you can't. You've got to go the round like therest, ' he said with a laugh which was like a sound uttered by a wildanimal rather than a human voice. The man was in my power, and I struckhim, miserable as he was. It seemed a relief thus to get rid of some ofthe fury in my mind. 'It's a lie, ' I said; 'I go because I please. Whyshouldn't I gather a band of my own if I please, and fight those brutes, not fly from them like you?'

He chuckled and laughed below his breath, struggling and cursing andcrying out, as I struck him again, 'You gather a band! What could youoffer them? Where would you find them? Are you better than the rest ofus? Are you not a man like the rest? Strike me you can, for I'm down. Butmake yourself a master and a chief--you!'

'Why not I?' I shouted again, wild with rage and the sense that I had nopower over him, save to hurt him. That passion made my hands tremble; heslipped from me in a moment, bounded from the ground like a ball, andwith a yell of derision escaped, and plunged into the streets and theclamor of the city from which I had just flown. I felt myself rage afterhim, shaking my fists with a consciousness of the ridiculous passion ofimpotence that was in me, but no power of restraining it; and there wasnot one of the fugitives who passed, however desperate he might be, whodid not make a mock at me as he darted by. The laughing-stock of allthose miserable objects, the sport of fate, afraid to go forwards, unableto go back, with a fire in my veins urging me on! But presently I grew alittle calmer out of mere exhaustion, which was all the relief that waspossible to me. And by and by, collecting all my faculties, and impelledby this impulse, which I seemed unable to resist, I got up and wentcautiously on. 

Fear can act in two ways: it paralyzes, and it renders cunning. At thismoment I found it inspire me. I made my plans before I started, how tosteal along under the cover of the blighted brushwood which broke theline of the valley here and there. I set out only after long thought, seizing the moment when the vaguely perceived band were scouring in theother direction intercepting the travellers. Thus, with many pauses, Igot near to the pit's mouth in safety. But my curiosity was as great as, almost greater than my terror. I had kept far from the road, draggingmyself sometimes on hands and feet over broken ground, tearing my clothesand my flesh upon the thorns; and on that farther side all seemed sosilent and so dark in the shadow cast by some disused machinery, behindwhich the glare of the fire from below blazed upon the other side of theopening, that I could not crawl along in the darkness, and pass, whichwould have been the safe way, but with a breathless hot desire to see andknow, dragged myself to the very edge to look down. Though I was in theshadow, my eyes were nearly put out by the glare on which I gazed. It wasnot fire; it was the lurid glow of the gold, glowing like flame, at whichcountless miners were working. They were all about like flies, --some ontheir knees, some bent double as they stooped over their work, some lyingcramped upon shelves and ledges. The sight was wonderful, and terriblebeyond description. The workmen seemed to consume away with the heat andthe glow, even in the few minutes I gazed. Their eyes shrank into theirheads; their faces blackened. I could see some trying to secret morselsof the glowing metal, which burned whatever it touched, and some who werebeing searched by the superiors of the mines, and some who were punishingthe offenders, fixing them up against the blazing wall of gold. The fearwent out of my mind, so much absorbed was I in this sight. I gazed, seeing farther and farther every moment into crevices and seams of theglowing metal, always with more and more slaves at work, and the entirepantomime of labor and theft, and search and punishment, going on andon, --the baked faces dark against the golden glare, the hot eyes taking ayellow reflection, the monotonous clamor of pick and shovel, and criesand curses, and all the indistinguishable sound of a multitude of humancreatures. And the floor below, and the low roof which overhung wholemyriads within a few inches of their faces, and the irregular walls allbreached and shelved, were every one the same, a pandemonium ofgold, --gold everywhere. I had loved many foolish things in my life, butnever this; which was perhaps why I gazed and kept my sight, though thererose out of it a blast of heat which scorched the brain. 

While I stooped over, intent on the sight, some one who had come up bymy side to gaze too was caught by the fumes (as I suppose), for suddenlyI was aware of a dark object falling prone into the glowing interior witha cry and crash which brought back my first wild panic. He fell in aheap, from which his arms shot forth wildly as he reached the bottom, andhis cry was half anguish yet half desire. I saw him seized by half adozen eager watchers, and pitched upon a ledge just under the roof, andtools thrust into his hands. I held on by an old shaft, trembling, unableto move. Perhaps I cried too in my horror, --for one of the overseers whostood in the centre of the glare looked up. He had the air of orderingall that was going on, and stood unaffected by the blaze, commanding theother wretched officials, who obeyed him like dogs. He seemed to me, inmy terror, like a figure of gold, the image perhaps of wealth or Pluto, or I know not what, for I suppose my brain began to grow confused, and myhold on the shaft to relax. I had strength enough, however (for I carednot for the gold), to fling myself back the other way upon the ground, where I rolled backwards, downwards, I knew not how, turning over andover upon sharp ashes and metallic edges, which tore my hair andbeard. --and for a moment I knew no more. 

This fall saved me. I came to myself after a time, and heard thepress-gang searching about. I had sense to lie still among the ashesthrown up out of the pit, while I heard their voices. Once I gave myselfup for lost. The glitter of a lantern flashed in my eyes, a foot passed, crashing among the ashes so close to my cheek that the shoe grazed it. Ifound the mark after, burned upon my flesh; but I escaped notice by amiracle. And presently I was able to drag myself up and crawl away; buthow I reached the end of the valley I cannot tell. I pushed my way alongmechanically on the dark side. I had no further desire to see what wasgoing on in the openings of the mines. I went on, stumbling and stupid, scarcely capable even of fear, conscious only of wretchedness andweariness, till at last I felt myself drop across the road within thegateway of the other town, and lay there with no thought of anything butthe relief of being at rest. 

When I came to myself, it seemed to me that there was a change in theatmosphere and the light. It was less lurid, paler, gray, more liketwilight than the stormy afternoon of the other city. A certain deadserenity was in the sky, --black paleness, whiteness, everything faint init. This town was walled, but the gates stood open, and I saw no defencesof troops or other guardians. I found myself lying across the threshold, but pushed to one side, so that the carriages which went and came shouldnot be stopped or I injured by their passage. It seemed to me that therewas some thoughtfulness and kindness in this action, and my heart sprangup in a reaction of hope. I looked back as if upon a nightmare on thedreadful city which I had left, on its tumults and noise, the wild racketof the streets, the wounded wretches who sought refuge in the corners, the strife and misery that were abroad, and, climax of all, the horribleentertainment which had been going on in the square, the unhappy beingstrapped upon the table. How, I said to myself, could such things be? Wasit a dream? Was it a nightmare? Was it something presented to me in avision, --a strong delusion to make me think that the old fables which hadbeen told concerning the end of mortal life were true? When I looked backit appeared like an allegory, so that I might have seen it in a dream;and still more like an allegory were the gold mines in the valley, andthe myriads who labored there. Was it all true, or only a reflectionfrom the old life mingling with the strange novelties which would mostlikely elude understanding on the entrance into this new? I sat withinthe shelter of the gateway on my awakening, and thought over all this. Myheart was calm, --almost, in the revulsion from the terrors I had beenthrough, happy. I persuaded myself that I was but now beginning; thatthere had been no reality in these latter experiences, only a curioussuccession of nightmares, such as might so well be supposed to follow awonderful transformation like that which must take place between ourmortal life and--the world to come. The world to come! I paused andthought of it all, until the heart began to beat loud in my breast. Whatwas this where I lay? Another world, --a world which was not happiness, not bliss? Oh, no; perhaps there was no world of bliss save in dreams. This, on the other hand, I said to myself, was not misery; for was not Iseated here, with a certain tremulousness about me, it was true, afterall the experiences which, supposing them even to have been but dreams, Ihad come through, --a tremulousness very comprehensible, and not at allwithout hope?

I will not say that I believed even what I tried to think. Something inme lay like a dark shadow in the midst of all my theories; but yet Isucceeded to a great degree in convincing myself that the hope in me wasreal, and that I was but now beginning--beginning with at least apossibility that all might be well. In this half conviction, and afterall the troubles that were over (even though they might only have beenimaginary troubles), I felt a certain sweetness in resting there withinthe gateway, with my back against it. I was unwilling to get up again, and bring myself in contact with reality. I felt that there was pleasurein being left alone. Carriages rolled past me occasionally, and now andthen some people on foot; but they did not kick me out of the way orinterfere with my repose. 

Presently as I sat trying to persuade myself to rise and pursue my way, two men came up to me in a sort of uniform. I recognized with anotherdistinct sensation of pleasure that here were people who had authority, representatives of some kind of government. They came up to me and bademe come with them in tones which were peremptory enough; but what ofthat?--better the most peremptory supervision than the lawlessness fromwhich I had come. They raised me from the ground with a touch, for Icould not resist them, and led me quickly along the street into whichthat gateway gave access, which was a handsome street with tall houseson either side. Groups of people were moving about along the pavement, talking now and then with considerable animation; but when my companionswere seen, there was an immediate moderation of tone, a sort of respectwhich looked like fear. There was no brawling nor tumult of any kind inthe street. The only incident that occurred was this: when we had gonesome way, I saw a lame man dragging himself along with difficulty on theother side of the street. My conductors had no sooner perceived him thanthey gave each other a look and darted across, conveying me with them, by a sweep of magnetic influence, I thought, that prevented me fromstaying behind. He made an attempt with his crutches to get out of theway, hurrying on--and I will allow that this attempt of his seemed to mevery grotesque, so that I could scarcely help laughing; the otherlookers-on in the street laughed too, though some put on an aspect ofdisgust. 'Look, the tortoise!' some one said; 'does he think he can goquicker than the orderlies?' My companions came up to the man while thiscommentary was going on, and seized him by each arm. 'Where were yougoing? Where have you come from? How dare you make an exhibition ofyourself?' they cried. They took the crutches from him as they spoke andthrew them away, and dragged him on until we reached a great grated doorwhich one of them opened with a key, while the other held the offender(for he seemed an offender) roughly up by one shoulder, causing himgreat pain. When the door was opened, I saw a number of people within, who seemed to crowd to the door as if seeking to get out; but this wasnot at all what was intended. My second companion dragged the lame manforwards, and pushed him in with so much violence that I could see himfall forwards on his face on the floor. Then the other locked the door, and we proceeded on our way. It was not till some time later that Iunderstood why. 

In the mean time I was hurried on, meeting a great many people who tookno notice of me, to a central building in the middle of the town, where Iwas brought before an official attended by clerks, with great booksspread out before him. Here I was questioned as to my name and myantecedents and the time of my arrival, then dismissed with a nod to oneof my conductors. He led me back again down the street, took me into oneof the tall great houses, opened the door of a room which was numbered, and left me there without a word. I cannot convey to any one thebewildered consternation with which I felt myself deposited here; and asthe steps of my conductor died away in the long corridor, I sat down, andlooking myself in the face, as it were, tried to make out what it wasthat had happened to me. The room was small and bare. There was but onething hung upon the undecorated walls, and that was a long list ofprinted regulations which I had not the courage for the moment to lookat. The light was indifferent, though the room was high up, and thestreet from the window looked far away below. I cannot tell how long Isat there thinking, and yet it could scarcely be called thought. I askedmyself over and over again, Where am I? is it a prison? am I shut in, toleave this enclosure no more? what am I to do? how is the time to pass? Ishut my eyes for a moment and tried to realize all that had happened tome; but nothing save a whirl through my head of disconnected thoughtsseemed possible, and some force was upon me to open my eyes again, tosee the blank room, the dull light, the vacancy round me in which therewas nothing to interest the mind, nothing to please the eye, --a blankwherever I turned. Presently there came upon me a burning regret foreverything I had left, --for the noisy town with all its tumults andcruelties, for the dark valley with all its dangers. Everything seemedbearable, almost agreeable, in comparison with this. I seemed to havebeen brought here to make acquaintance once more with myself, to learnover again what manner of man I was. Needless knowledge, acquaintanceunnecessary, unhappy! for what was there in me to make me to myself agood companion? Never, I knew, could I separate myself from that eternalconsciousness; but it was cruelty to force the contemplation upon me. Allblank, blank around me, a prison! And was this to last forever?

I do not know how long I sat, rapt in this gloomy vision; but at last itoccurred to me to rise and try the door, which to my astonishment wasopen. I went out with a throb of new hope. After all, it might not benecessary to come back. There might be other expedients; I might fallamong friends. I turned down the long echoing stairs, on which I metvarious people, who took no notice of me, and in whom I felt no interestsave a desire to avoid them, and at last reached the street. To be out ofdoors in the air was something, though there was no wind, but amotionless still atmosphere which nothing disturbed. The streets, indeed, were full of movement, but not of life--though this seems a paradox. Thepassengers passed on their way in long regulated lines, --those who wenttowards the gates keeping rigorously to one side of the pavement, thosewho came, to the other. They talked to each other here and there; butwhenever two men in uniform, such as those who had been my conductors, appeared, silence ensued, and the wayfarers shrank even from the looks ofthese persons in authority. I walked all about the spacious town. Everywhere there were tall houses, everywhere streams of people comingand going, but no one spoke to me, or remarked me at all. I was as lonelyas if I had been in a wilderness. I was indeed in a wilderness of men, who were as though they did not see me, passing without even a look ofhuman fellowship, each absorbed in his own concerns. I walked and walkedtill my limbs trembled under me, from one end to another of the greatstreets, up and down, and round and round. But no one said, How are you?Whence come you? What are you doing? At length in despair I turned againto the blank and miserable room, which had looked to me like a cell in aprison. I had wilfully made no note of its situation, trying to avoidrather than to find it, but my steps were drawn thither against my will. I found myself retracing my steps, mounting the long stairs, passing thesame people, who streamed along with no recognition of me, as I desirednothing to do with them; and at last found myself within the same fourblank walls as before. 

Soon after I returned I became conscious of measured steps passing thedoor, and of an eye upon me. I can say no more than this. From what pointit was that I was inspected I cannot tell; but that I was inspected, closely scrutinized by some one, and that not only externally, but by acold observation that went through and through me, I knew and felt beyondany possibility of mistake. This recurred from time to time, horribly, atuncertain moments, so that I never felt myself secure from it. I knewwhen the watcher was coming by tremors and shiverings through all mybeing; and no sensation so unsupportable has it ever been mine to bear. How much that is to say, no one can tell who has not gone through thoseregions of darkness, and learned what is in all their abysses. I tried atfirst to hide, to fling myself on the floor, to cover my face, to burrowin a dark corner. Useless attempts! The eyes that looked in upon me hadpowers beyond my powers. I felt sometimes conscious of the derisive smilewith which my miserable subterfuges were regarded. They were all in vain. 

And what was still more strange was that I had not energy to think ofattempting any escape. My steps, though watched, were not restrained inany way, so far as I was aware. The gates of the city stood open on allsides, free to those who went as well as to those who came; but I did notthink of flight. Of flight! Whence should I go from myself? Though thathorrible inspection was from the eyes of some unseen being, it was insome mysterious way connected with my own thinking and reflections, sothat the thought came ever more and more strongly upon me, that frommyself I could never escape. And that reflection took all energy, allimpulse from me. I might have gone away when I pleased, beyond reach ofthe authority which regulated everything, --how one should walk, whereone should live, --but never from my own consciousness. On the other sideof the town lay a great plain, traversed by roads on every side. Therewas no reason why I should not continue my journey there; but I did not. I had no wish nor any power in me to go away. 

In one of my long, dreary, companionless walks, unshared by any humanfellowship, I saw at last a face which I remembered; it was that of thecynical spectator who had spoken to me in the noisy street, in themidst of my early experiences. He gave a glance round him to see thatthere were no officials in sight, then left the file in which he waswalking, and joined me. 'Ah!' he said, 'you are here already, ' with thesame derisive smile with which he had before regarded me. I hated theman and his sneer, yet that he should speak to me was something, almosta pleasure. 

'Yes, ' said I, 'I am here. ' Then, after a pause, in which I did not knowwhat to say, 'It is quiet here, ' I said. 

'Quiet enough. Do you like it better for that? To do whatever you pleasewith no one to interfere; or to do nothing you please, but as you areforced to do it, --which do you think is best?'

I felt myself instinctively glance round, as he had done, to make surethat no one was in sight. Then I answered, faltering, 'I have always heldthat law and order were necessary things; and the lawlessness ofthat--that place--I don't know its name--if there is such a place, ' Icried, 'I thought it was a dream. '

He laughed in his mocking way. 'Perhaps it is all a dream; who knows?' hesaid. 

'Sir, ' said I, 'you have been longer here than I--'

'Oh, ' cried he, with a laugh that was dry and jarred upon the air almostlike a shriek, 'since before your forefathers were born!' It seemed to methat he spoke like one who, out of bitterness and despite, made everydarkness blacker still. A kind of madman in his way; for what was thisclaim of age?--a piece of bravado, no doubt, like the rest. 

'That is strange, ' I said, assenting, as when there is such ahallucination it is best to do. 'You can tell me, then, whence all thisauthority comes, and why we are obliged to obey. '

He looked at me as if he were thinking in his mind how to hurt me most. Then, with that dry laugh, 'We make trial of all things in this world, 'he said, 'to see if perhaps we can find something we shalllike. --discipline here, freedom in the other place. When you have goneall the round like me, then perhaps you will be able to choose. '

'Have you chosen?' I asked. 

He only answered with a laugh. 'Come, ' he said, 'there is amusement to behad too, and that of the most elevated kind. We make researches here intothe moral nature of man. Will you come? But you must take the risk, ' headded with a smile which afterwards I understood. 

We went on together after this till we reached the centre of the place, in which stood an immense building with a dome, which dominated the city, and into a great hall in the centre of that, where a crowd of people wereassembled. The sound of human speech, which murmured all around, broughtnew life to my heart. And as I gazed at a curious apparatus erected on aplatform, several people spoke to me. 

'We have again, ' said one, 'the old subject to-day. '

'Is it something about the constitution of the place?' I asked in thebewilderment of my mind. My neighbors looked at me with alarm, glancingbehind them to see what officials might be near. 

'The constitution of the place is the result of the sense of theinhabitants that order must be preserved, ' said the one, who had spokento me first. 'The lawless can find refuge in other places. Here we havechosen to have supervision, nuisances removed, and order kept. That isenough. The constitution is not under discussion. '

'But man is, ' said a second speaker. 'Let us keep to that in which we canmend nothing. Sir, you may have to contribute your quota to ourenlightenment. We are investigating the rise of thought. You are astranger; you may be able to help us. '

'I am no philosopher, ' I said with a panic which I could not explainto myself. 

'That does not matter. You are a fresh subject. ' The speaker made aslight movement with his hand, and I turned round to escape in wild, sudden fright, though I had no conception what could be done to me; butthe crowd had pressed close round me, hemming one in on every side. I wasso wildly alarmed that I struggled among them, pushing backwards with allmy force, and clearing a space round me with my arms; but my efforts werevain. Two of the officers suddenly appeared out of the crowd, andseizing me by the arms, forced me forwards. The throng dispersed beforethem on either side, and I was half dragged, half lifted up upon theplatform, where stood the strange apparatus which I had contemplated witha dull wonder when I came into the hall. My wonder did not last long. Ifelt myself fixed in it, standing supported in that position by bands andsprings, so that no effort of mine was necessary to hold myself up, andnone possible to release myself. I was caught by every joint, sustained, supported, exposed to the gaze of what seemed a world of upturned faces;among which I saw, with a sneer upon it, keeping a little behind thecrowd, the face of the man who had led me here. Above my head was astrong light, more brilliant than anything I had ever seen, and whichblazed upon my brain till the hair seemed to singe and the skin shrink. Ihope I may never feel such a sensation again. The pitiless light wentinto me like a knife; but even my cries were stopped by the framework inwhich I was bound. I could breathe and suffer, but that was all. 

Then some one got up on the platform above me and began to speak. Hesaid, so far as I could comprehend in the anguish and torture in which Iwas held, that the origin of thought was the question he wasinvestigating, but that in every previous subject the confusion of ideashad bewildered them, and the rapidity with which one followed another. 'The present example has been found to exhibit great persistency ofidea, ' he said. 'We hope that by his means some clearer theory may bearrived at. ' Then he pulled over me a great movable lens as of amicroscope, which concentrated the insupportable light. The wild, hopeless passion that raged within my soul had no outlet in the immovableapparatus that held me. I was let down among the crowd, and exhibited tothem every secret movement of my being, by some awful process which Ihave never fathomed. A burning fire was in my brain; flame seemed to runalong all my nerves; speechless, horrible, incommunicable fury raged inmy soul. But I was like a child--nay, like an image of wood or wax--inthe pitiless hands that held me. What was the cut of a surgeon's knife tothis? And I had thought _that_ cruel! And I was powerless, and could donothing--to blast, to destroy, to burn with this same horrible flame thefiends that surrounded me, as I desired to do. 

Suddenly, in the raging fever of my thoughts, there surged up therecollection of that word which had paralyzed all around, and myselfwith them. The thought that I must share the anguish did not restrain mefrom my revenge. With a tremendous effort I got my voice, though theinstrument pressed upon my lips. I know not what I articulated save'God, ' whether it was a curse or a blessing. I had been swung out intothe middle of the hall, and hung amid the crowd, exposed to all theirobservations, when I succeeded in gaining utterance. My God! my God!Another moment and I had forgotten them and all my fury in the torturesthat arose within myself. What, then, was the light that racked my brain?Once more my life from its beginning to its end rose up before me, --eachscene like a spectre, like the harpies of the old fables rending me withtooth and claw. Once more I saw what might have been, the noble things Imight have done, the happiness I had lost, the turnings of the fated roadwhich I might have taken, --everything that was once so possible, sopossible, so easy! but now possible no more. My anguish was immeasurable;I turned and wrenched myself, in the strength of pain, out of themachinery that held me, and fell down, down among all the curses thatwere being hurled at me, --among the horrible and miserable crowd. I hadbrought upon them the evil which I shared, and they fell upon me with afury which was like that which had prompted myself a few minutes before;but they could do nothing to me so tremendous as the vengeance I hadtaken upon them. I was too miserable to feel the blows that rained uponme, but presently I suppose I lost consciousness altogether, being almosttorn to pieces by the multitude. 

While this lasted, it seemed to me that I had a dream. I felt the blowsraining down upon me, and my body struggling upon the ground; and yetit seemed to me that I was lying outside upon the ground, and above methe pale sky which never brightened at the touch of the sun. And Ithought that dull, persistent cloud wavered and broke for an instant, and that I saw behind a glimpse of that blue which is heaven when weare on the earth--the blue sky--which is nowhere to be seen but in themortal life; which is heaven enough, which is delight enough, for thosewho can look up to it, and feel themselves in the land of hope. Itmight be but a dream; in this strange world who could tell what wasvision and what was true?

The next thing I remember was that I found myself lying on the floor ofa great room full of people with every kind of disease and deformity, some pale with sickness, some with fresh wounds, the lame, and themaimed, and the miserable. They lay round me in every attitude of pain, many with sores, some bleeding, with broken limbs, but all struggling, some on hands and knees, dragging themselves up from the ground to stareat me. They roused in my mind a loathing and sense of disgust which it isimpossible to express. I could scarcely tolerate the thought that I--I!should be forced to remain a moment in this lazar-house. The feeling withwhich I had regarded the miserable creature who shared the corner of thewall with me, and who had cursed me for being sorry for him, hadaltogether gone out of my mind. I called out, to whom I know not, adjuring some one to open the door and set me free; but my cry wasanswered only by a shout from my companions in trouble. 'Who do you thinkwill let you out?' 'Who is going to help you more than the rest?' Mywhole body was racked with pain; I could not move from the floor, onwhich I lay. I had to put up with the stares of the curious, and themockeries and remarks on me of whoever chose to criticise. Among themwas the lame man whom I had seen thrust in by the two officers who hadtaken me from the gate. He was the first to jibe. 'But for him they wouldnever have seen me, ' he said. 'I should have been well by this time inthe fresh air. ' 'It is his turn now, ' said another. I turned my head aswell as I could and spoke to them all. 

'I am a stranger here, ' I cried. 'They have made my brain burn with theirexperiments. Will nobody help me? It is no fault of mine, it is theirfault. If I am to be left here uncared for, I shall die. '

At this a sort of dreadful chuckle ran round the place. 'If that is whatyou are afraid of, you will not die, ' somebody said, touching me on myhead in a way which gave me intolerable pain. 'Don't touch me, ' I cried. 'Why shouldn't I?' said the other, and pushed me again upon the throbbingbrain. So far as my sensations went, there were no coverings at all, neither skull nor skin upon the intolerable throbbing of my head, whichhad been exposed to the curiosity of the crowd, and every touch wasagony; but my cry brought no guardian, nor any defence or soothing. Idragged myself into a corner after a time, from which some other wretchhad been rolled out in the course of a quarrel; and as I found thatsilence was the only policy, I kept silent, with rage consuming my heart. 

Presently I discovered by means of the new arrivals which kept coming in, hurled into the midst of us without thought or question, that this wasthe common fate of all who were repulsive to the sight, or who had anyweakness or imperfection which offended the eyes of the population. Theywere tossed in among us, not to be healed, or for repose or safety, butto be out of sight, that they might not disgust or annoy those who weremore fortunate, to whom no injury had happened; and because in theirsickness and imperfection they were of no use in the studies of theplace, and disturbed the good order of the streets. And there they layone above another, --a mass of bruised and broken creatures, most of themsuffering from injuries which they had sustained in what would have beencalled in other regions the service of the State. They had served likemyself as objects of experiments. They had fallen from heights where theyhad been placed in illustration of some theory. They had been tortured ortwisted to give satisfaction to some question. And then, that theconsequences of these proceedings might offend no one's eyes, they wereflung into this receptacle, to be released if chance or strength enabledthem to push their way out when others were brought in, or when theirimportunate knocking wearied some watchman, and brought him angry andthreatening to hear what was wanted. The sound of this knocking againstthe door, and of the cries that accompanied it, and the rush towards theopening when any one was brought in, caused a hideous continuous noiseand scuffle which was agony to my brain. Every one pushed before theother; there was an endless rising and falling as in the changes of afeverish dream, each man as he got strength to struggle forwards himself, thrusting back his neighbors, and those who were nearest to the doorbeating upon it without cease, like the beating of a drum without cadenceor measure, sometimes a dozen passionate hands together, making ahorrible din and riot. As I lay unable to join in that struggle, andmoved by rage unspeakable towards all who could, I reflected strangelythat I had never heard when outside this horrible continual appeal of thesuffering. In the streets of the city, as I now reflected, quiet reigned. I had even made comparisons on my first entrance, in the moment ofpleasant anticipation which came over me, of the happy stillness herewith the horror and tumult of that place of unrule which I had left. 

When my thoughts reached this point I was answered by the voice of someone on a level with myself, lying helpless like me on the floor of thelazar-house. 'They have taken their precautions, ' he said; 'if they willnot endure the sight of suffering, how should they hear the sound of it?Every cry is silenced there. '

'I wish they could be silenced within too, ' I cried savagely; 'I wouldmake them dumb had I the power. '

'The spirit of the place is in you, ' said the other voice. 

'And not in you?' I said, raising my head, though every movement wasagony; but this pretence of superiority was more than I could bear. 

The other made no answer for a moment; then he said faintly, 'If it isso, it is but for greater misery. '

And then his voice died away, and the hubbub of beating and crying andcursing and groaning filled all the echoes. They cried, but no onelistened to them. They thundered on the door, but in vain. Theyaggravated all their pangs in that mad struggle to get free. After awhile my companion, whoever he was, spoke again. 

'They would rather, ' he said, 'lie on the roadside to be kicked andtrodden on, as we have seen; though to see that made you miserable. '

'Made me miserable! You mock me, ' I said. 'Why should a man be miserablesave for suffering of his own?'

'You thought otherwise once, ' my neighbor said. 

And then I remembered the wretch in the corner of the wall in theother town, who had cursed me for pitying him. I cursed myself now forthat folly. Pity him! was he not better off than I? 'I wish, ' I cried, 'that I could crush them into nothing, and be rid of this infernalnoise they make!'

'The spirit of the place has entered into you, ' said that voice. 

I raised my arm to strike him; but my hand fell on the stone floorinstead, and sent a jar of new pain all through my battered frame. Andthen I mastered my rage and lay still, for I knew there was no way butthis of recovering my strength, --the strength with which, when I got itback, I would annihilate that reproachful voice and crush the life out ofthose groaning fools, whose cries and impotent struggles I could notendure. And we lay a long time without moving, with always that tumultraging in our ears. At last there came into my mind a longing to hearspoken words again. I said, 'Are you still there?'

'I shall be here, ' he said, 'till I am able to begin again. '

'To begin! Is there here, then, either beginning or ending? Go on; speakto me; it makes me a little forget my pain. '

'I have a fire in my heart, ' he said; 'I must begin and begin--tillperhaps I find the way. '

'What way?' I cried, feverish and eager; for though I despised him, yetit made me wonder to think that he should speak riddles which I could notunderstand. 

He answered very faintly, 'I do not know. ' The fool! then it was onlyfolly, as from the first I knew it was. I felt then that I could treathim roughly, after the fashion of the place--which he said had got intome. 'Poor wretch!' I said, 'you have hopes, have you? Where have you comefrom? You might have learned better before now. '

'I have come, ' he said, 'from where we met before. I have come by thevalley of gold. I have worked in the mines. I have served in the troopsof those who are masters there. I have lived in this town of tyrants, andlain in this lazar-house before. Everything has happened to me, more andworse than you dream of. '

'And still you go on? I would dash my head against the wall and die. '

'When will you learn, ' he said with a strange tone in his voice, which, though no one had been listening to us, made a sudden silence for amoment, it was so strange; it moved me like that glimmer of the bluesky in my dream, and roused all the sufferers round with anexpectation--though I know not what. The cries stopped; the hands beat nolonger. I think all the miserable crowd were still, and turned to wherehe lay. 'When will you learn--that you have died, and can die no more?'

There was a shout of fury all around me. 'Is that all you have to say?'the crowd burst forth; and I think they rushed upon him and killed him, for I heard no more until the hubbub began again more wild than ever, with furious hands beating, beating against the locked door. 

After a while I began to feel my strength come back. I raised my head. Isat up. I began to see the faces of those around me, and the groupsinto which they gathered; the noise was no longer so insupportable, --myracked nerves were regaining health. It was with a mixture of pleasureand despair that I became conscious of this. I had been through manydeaths; but I did not die, perhaps could not, as that man had said. Ilooked about for him, to see if he had contradicted his own theory. Buthe was not dead. He was lying close to me, covered with wounds; but heopened his eyes, and something like a smile came upon his lips. Asmile, --I had heard laughter, and seen ridicule and derision, but this Ihad not seen. I could not bear it. To seize him and shake the littleremaining life out of him was my impulse; but neither did I obey that. Again he reminded me of my dream--was it a dream?--of the opening in theclouds. From that moment I tried to shelter him, and as I grew strongerand stronger and pushed my way to the door, I dragged him along with me. How long the struggle was I cannot tell, or how often I was balked, orhow many darted through before me when the door was opened. But Idid not let him go; and at last, for now I was as strong asbefore, --stronger than most about me, --I got out into the air andbrought him with me. Into the air! it was an atmosphere so still andmotionless that there was no feeling of life in it, as I have said; butthe change seemed to me happiness for the moment. It was freedom. Thenoise of the struggle was over; the horrible sights were left behind. Myspirit sprang up as if I had been born into new life. It had the sameeffect, I suppose, upon my companion, though he was much weaker than I, for he rose to his feet at once with almost a leap of eagerness, andturned instantaneously towards the other side of the city. 

'Not that way, ' I said; 'come with me and rest. '

'No rest--no rest--my rest is to go on;' and then he turned towards meand smiled and said, 'Thanks'--looking into my face. What a word to hear!I had not heard it since--A rush of strange and sweet and dreadfulthoughts came into my mind. I shrank and trembled, and let go his arm, which I had been holding; but when I left that hold I seemed to fall backinto depths of blank pain and longing. I put out my hand again and caughthim. 'I will go, ' I said, 'where you go. '

A pair of the officials of the place passed as I spoke. They looked atme with a threatening glance, and half paused, but then passed on. Itwas I now who hurried my companion along. I recollected him now. Hewas a man who had met me in the streets of the other city when I wasstill ignorant, who had convulsed me with the utterance of that namewhich, in all this world where we were, is never named but forpunishment, --the name which I had named once more in the great hall inthe midst of my torture, so that all who heard me were transfixed withthat suffering too. He had been haggard then, but he was more haggardnow. His features were sharp with continual pain; his eyes were wildwith weakness and trouble, though there was a meaning in them whichwent to my heart. It seemed to me that in his touch there was a certainhelp, though he was weak and tottered, and every moment seemed full ofsuffering. Hope sprang up in my mind, --the hope that where he was soeager to go there would be something better, a life more livable thanin this place. In every new place there is new hope. I was not worn outof that human impulse. I forgot the nightmare which had crushed mebefore, --the horrible sense that from myself there was no escape, --andholding fast to his arm, I hurried on with him, not heeding where. Wewent aside into less frequented streets, that we might escapeobservation. I seemed to myself the guide, though I was the follower. A great faith in this man sprang up in my breast. I was ready to gowith him wherever he went, anywhere--anywhere must be better than this. Thus I pushed him on, holding by his arm, till we reached the veryoutmost limits of the city. Here he stood still for a moment, turningupon me, and took me by the hands. 

'Friend, ' he said, 'before you were born into the pleasant earth I hadcome here. I have gone all the weary round. Listen to one who knows: allis harder, harder, as you go on. You are stirred to go on by therestlessness in your heart, and each new place you come to, the spirit ofthat place enters into you. You are better here than you will be fartheron. You were better where you were at first, or even in the mines, thanhere. Come no farther. Stay; unless--' but here his voice gave way. Helooked at me with anxiety in his eyes, and said no more. 

'Then why, ' I cried, 'do you go on? Why do you not stay?'

He shook his head, and his eyes grew more and more soft. 'I am going, ' hesaid, and his voice shook again. 'I am going--to try--the most awful andthe most dangerous journey--' His voice died away altogether, and he onlylooked at me to say the rest. 

'A journey? Where?'

I can tell no man what his eyes said. I understood, I cannot tell how;and with trembling all my limbs seemed to drop out of joint and my facegrow moist with terror. I could not speak any more than he, but with mylips shaped, How? The awful thought made a tremor in the very air around. He shook his head slowly as he looked at me, his eyes, all circled withdeep lines, looking out of caves of anguish and anxiety; and then Iremembered how he had said, and I had scoffed at him, that the way hesought was one he did not know. I had dropped his hands in my fear; andyet to leave him seemed dragging the heart out of my breast, for none buthe had spoken to me like a brother, had taken my hand and thanked me. Ilooked out across the plain, and the roads seemed tranquil and still. There was a coolness in the air. It looked like evening, as if somewherein those far distances there might be a place where a weary soul mightrest; and I looked behind me, and thought what I had suffered, andremembered the lazar-house and the voices that cried and the hands thatbeat against the door, and also the horrible quiet of the room in which Ilived, and the eyes which looked in at me and turned my gaze upon myself. Then I rushed after him, for he had turned to go on upon his way, andcaught at his clothes, crying, 'Behold me, behold me! I will go too!'

He reached me his hand and went on without a word; and I with terrorcrept after him, treading in his steps, following like his shadow. Whatit was to walk with another, and follow, and be at one, is more than Ican tell; but likewise my heart failed me for fear, for dread of what wemight encounter, and of hearing that name or entering that presence whichwas more terrible than all torture. I wondered how it could be that oneshould willingly face _that_ which racked the soul, and how he hadlearned that it was possible, and where he had heard of the way. And aswe went on I said no word, for he began to seem to me a being of anotherkind, a figure full of awe; and I followed as one might follow a ghost. Where would he go? Were we not fixed here forever, where our lot had beencast? And there were still many other great cities where there might bemuch to see, and something to distract the mind, and where it might bemore possible to live than it had proved in the other places. There mightbe no tyrants there, nor cruelty, nor horrible noises, nor dreadfulsilence. Towards the right hand, across the plain, there seemed to riseout of the gray distance a cluster of towers and roofs like anotherhabitable place; and who could tell that something better might not bethere? Surely everything could not turn to torture and misery. I draggedon behind him, with all these thoughts hurrying through my mind. He wasgoing--I dare to say it now, though I did not dare then--to seek out away to God; to try, if it was possible, to find the road that ledback, --that road which had been open once to all. But for me, I trembledat the thought of that road. I feared the name, which was as the plungingof a sword into my inmost parts. All things could be borne but that. Idared not even think upon that name. To feel my hand in another man'shand was much, but to be led into that awful presence, by awful ways, which none knew--how could I bear it? My spirits failed me, and mystrength. My hand became loose in his hand; he grasped me still, but myhold failed, and ever with slower and slower steps I followed, while heseemed to acquire strength with every winding of the way. At length hesaid to me, looking back upon me, 'I cannot stop; but your heart fallsyou. Shall I loose my hand and let you go?'

'I am afraid; I am afraid!' I cried. 

'And I too am afraid; but it is better to suffer more and to escape thanto suffer less and to remain. '

'Has it ever been known that one escaped? No one has ever escaped. Thisis our place, ' I said; 'there is no other world. '

'There are other worlds; there is a world where every way leads to Onewho loves us still. '

I cried out with a great cry of misery and scorn. 'There is nolove!' I said. 

He stood still for a moment and turned and looked at me. His eyes seemedto melt my soul. A great cloud passed over them, as in the pleasant eartha cloud will sweep across the moon; and then the light came out andlooked at me again, for neither did he know. Where he was going all mightend in despair and double and double pain. But if it were possible thatat the end there should be found that for which he longed, upon which hisheart was set! He said with a faltering voice, 'Among all whom I havequestioned and seen, there was but one who found the way. But if one hasfound it, so may I. If you will not come, yet let me go. '

'They will tear you limb from limb; they will burn you in the endlessfires, ' I said. But what is it to be torn limb from limb, or burned withfire? There came upon his face a smile, and in my heart even I laughed toscorn what I had said. 

'If I were dragged every nerve apart, and every thought turned into afiery dart, --and that is so, ' he said, --'yet will I go, if but perhaps Imay see Love at the end. '

'There is no love!' I cried again with a sharp and bitter cry; and theecho seemed to come back and back from every side, No love! no love! tillthe man who was my friend faltered and stumbled like a drunken man; butafterwards he recovered strength and resumed his way. 

And thus once more we went on. On the right hand was that city, growingever clearer, with noble towers rising up to the sky, and battlements andlofty roofs, and behind a yellow clearness, as of a golden sunset. Myheart drew me there; it sprang up in my breast and sang in my ears, Come, and come. Myself invited me to this new place as to a home. The otherswere wretched, but this will be happy, --delights and pleasures will bethere. And before us the way grew dark with storms, and there grewvisible among the mists a black line of mountains, perpendicular cliffs, and awful precipices, which seemed to bar the way. I turned from thatline of gloomy heights, and gazed along the path to where the towersstood up against the sky. And presently my hand dropped by my side, thathad been held in my companion's hand; and I saw him no more. 

I went on to the city of the evening light. Ever and ever, as I proceededon my way, the sense of haste and restless impatience grew upon me, sothat I felt myself incapable of remaining long in a place, and my desiregrew stronger to hasten on and on; but when I entered the gates of thecity this longing vanished from my mind. There seemed some great festivalor public holiday going on there. The streets were full ofpleasure-parties, and in every open place (of which there were many) werebands of dancers, and music playing; and the houses about were hung withtapestries and embroideries and garlands of flowers. A load seemed to betaken from my spirit when I saw all this, --for a whole population doesnot rejoice in such a way without some cause. And to think that afterall I had found a place in which I might live and forget the misery andpain which I had known, and all that was behind me, was delightful to mysoul. It seemed to me that all the dancers were beautiful and young, their steps went gayly to the music, their faces were bright with smiles. Here and there was a master of the feast, who arranged the dances andguided the musicians, yet seemed to have a look and smile for new-comerstoo. One of these came forwards to meet me, and received me with awelcome, and showed me a vacant place at the table, on which werebeautiful fruits piled up in baskets, and all the provisions for a meal. 'You were expected, you perceive, ' he said. A delightful sense ofwell-being came into my mind. I sat down in the sweetness of ease afterfatigue, of refreshment after weariness, of pleasant sounds and sightsafter the arid way. I said to myself that my past experiences had been amistake, that this was where I ought to have come from the first, thatlife here would be happy, and that all intruding thoughts must soonvanish and die away. 

After I had rested, I strolled about, and entered fully into thepleasures of the place. Wherever I went, through all the city, there wasnothing but brightness and pleasure, music playing, and flags waving, andflowers and dancers and everything that was most gay. I asked severalpeople whom I met what was the cause of the rejoicing; but either theywere too much occupied with their own pleasures, or my question was lostin the hum of merriment, the sound of the instruments and of the dancers'feet. When I had seen as much as I desired of the pleasure out of doors, I was taken by some to see the interiors of houses, which were alldecorated for this festival, whatever it was, lighted up with curiousvarieties of lighting, in tints of different colors. The doors andwindows were all open; and whosoever would could come in from the danceor from the laden tables, and sit down where they pleased and rest, always with a pleasant view out upon the streets, so that they shouldlose nothing of the spectacle. And the dresses, both of women and men, were beautiful in form and color, made in the finest fabrics, andaffording delightful combinations to the eye. The pleasure which I tookin all I saw and heard was enhanced by the surprise of it, and by theaspect of the places from which I had come, where there was no regard tobeauty nor anything lovely or bright. Before my arrival here I had comein my thoughts to the conclusion that life had no brightness in theseregions, and that whatever occupation or study there might be, pleasurehad ended and was over, and everything that had been sweet in the formerlife. I changed that opinion with a sense of relief, which was more warmeven than the pleasure of the present moment; for having made one suchmistake, how could I tell that there were not more discoveries awaitingme, that life might not prove more endurable, might not rise to somethinggrander and more powerful? The old prejudices, the old foregoneconclusion of earth that this was a world of punishment, had warped myvision and my thoughts. With so many added faculties of being, incapableof fatigue as we were, incapable of death, recovering from every wound oraccident as I had myself done, and with no foolish restraint as to whatwe should or should not do, why might not we rise in this land tostrength unexampled, to the highest powers? I rejoiced that I had droppedmy companion's hand, that I had not followed him in his mad quest. Sometime, I said to myself, I would make a pilgrimage to the foot ofthose gloomy mountains, and bring him back, all racked and tortured ashe was, and show him the pleasant place which he had missed. 

In the mean time the music and the dance went on. But it began tosurprise me a little that there was no pause, that the festival continuedwithout intermission. I went up to one of those who seemed the masters ofceremony, directing what was going on. He was an old man, with a flowingrobe of brocade, and a chain and badge which denoted his office. He stoodwith a smile upon his lips, beating time with his hand to the music, watching the figure of the dance. 

'I can get no one to tell me, ' I said, 'what the occasion of all thisrejoicing is. '

'It is for your coming, ' he replied without hesitation, with a smileand a bow. 

For the moment a wonderful elation came over me. 'For my coming!' Butthen I paused and shook my head. 'There are others coming besides me. See! they arrive every moment. '

'It is for their coming too, ' he said with another smile and a stilldeeper bow; 'but you are the first as you are the chief. '

This was what I could not understand; but it was pleasant to hear, and Imade no further objection. 'And how long will it go on?' I said. 

'So long as it pleases you, ' said the old courtier. 

How he smiled! His smile did not please me. He saw this, and distractedmy attention. 'Look at this dance, ' he said; 'how beautiful are thoseround young limbs! Look how the dress conceals yet shows the form andbeautiful movements! It was invented in your honor. All that is lovelyis for you. Choose where you will, all is yours. We live only for this;all is for you. ' While he spoke, the dancers came nearer and nearer tillthey circled us round, and danced and made their pretty obeisances, andsang, 'All is yours; all is for you;' then breaking their lines, floatedaway in other circles and processions and endless groups, singing andlaughing till it seemed to ring from every side, 'Everything is yours;all is for you. '

I accepted this flattery I know not why, for I soon became aware that Iwas no more than others, and that the same words were said to everynew-comer. Yet my heart was elated, and I threw myself into all that wasset before me. But there was always in my mind an expectation thatpresently the music and the dancing would cease, and the tables bewithdrawn, and a pause come. At one of the feasts I was placed by theside of a lady very fair and richly dressed, but with a look of greatweariness in her eyes. She turned her beautiful face to me, not with anyshow of pleasure, and there was something like compassion in her look. She said, 'You are very tired, ' as she made room for me by her side. 

'Yes, ' I said, though with surprise, for I had not yet acknowledgedthat even to myself. 'There is so much to enjoy. We have need of alittle rest. '

'Of rest!' said she, shaking her head, 'this is not the place for rest. '

'Yet pleasure requires it, ' I said, 'as much as--' I was about to saypain; but why should one speak of pain in a place given up topleasure? She smiled faintly and shook her head again. All hermovements were languid and faint; her eyelids drooped over her eyes. Yet when I turned to her, she made an effort to smile. 'I think youare also tired, ' I said. 

At this she roused herself a little. 'We must not say so; nor do I sayso. Pleasure is very exacting. It demands more of you than anything else. One must be always ready--'

'For what?'

'To give enjoyment and to receive it. ' There was an effort in her voiceto rise to this sentiment, but it fell back into weariness again. 

'I hope you receive as well as give, ' I said. 

The lady turned her eyes to me with a look which I cannot forget, andlife seemed once more to be roused within her, but not the life ofpleasure; her eyes were full of loathing and fatigue and disgust anddespair. 'Are you so new to this place, ' she said, 'and have not learnedeven yet what is the height of all misery and all weariness; what isworse than pain and trouble, more dreadful than the lawless streets andthe burning mines, and the torture of the great hall and the misery ofthe lazar-house--'

'Oh, lady, ' I said, 'have you been there?'

She answered me with her eyes alone; there was no need of more. 'Butpleasure is more terrible than all, ' she said; and I knew in my heartthat what she said was true. 

There is no record of time in that place. I could not count it by days ornights; but soon after this it happened to me that the dances and themusic became no more than a dizzy maze of sound and sight which made mybrain whirl round and round, and I too loathed what was spread on thetable, and the soft couches, and the garlands, and the fluttering flagsand ornaments. To sit forever at a feast, to see forever the merrymakersturn round and round, to hear in your ears forever the whirl of themusic, the laughter, the cries of pleasure! There were some who went onand on, and never seemed to tire; but to me the endless round came atlast to be a torture from which I could not escape. Finally, I coulddistinguish nothing, --neither what I heard nor what I saw; and only aconsciousness of something intolerable buzzed and echoed in my brain. Ilonged for the quiet of the place I had left; I longed for the noise inthe streets, and the hubbub and tumult of my first experiences. Anything, anything rather than this! I said to myself; and still the dancersturned, the music sounded, the bystanders smiled, and everything went onand on. My eyes grew weary with seeing, and my ears with hearing. Towatch the new-comers rush in, all pleased and eager, to see the eyes ofthe others glaze with weariness, wrought upon my strained nerves. I couldnot think, I could not rest, I could not endure. Music forever andever, --a whirl, a rush of music, always going on and on; and ever thatmaze of movement, till the eyes were feverish and the mouth parched;ever that mist of faces, now one gleaming out of the chaos, now another, some like the faces of angels, some miserable, weary, strained withsmiling, with the monotony, and the endless, aimless, never-changinground. I heard myself calling to them to be still--to be still! to pausea moment. I felt myself stumble and turn round in the giddiness andhorror of that movement without repose. And finally, I fell under thefeet of the crowd, and felt the whirl go over and over me, and beat uponmy brain, until I was pushed and thrust out of the way lest I shouldstop the measure. There I lay, sick, satiate, for I know not howlong, --loathing everything around me, ready to give all I had (but whathad I to give?) for one moment of silence. But always the music went on, and the dancers danced, and the people feasted, and the songs and thevoices echoed up to the skies. 

How at last I stumbled forth I cannot tell. Desperation must have movedme, and that impatience which after every hope and disappointment comesback and back, --the one sensation that never fails. I dragged myself atlast by intervals, like a sick dog, outside the revels, still hearingthem, which was torture to me, even when at last I got beyond the crowd. It was something to lie still upon the ground, though without power tomove, and sick beyond all thought, loathing myself and all that I hadbeen and seen. For I had not even the sense that I had been wronged tokeep me up, but only a nausea and horror of movement, a giddiness andwhirl of every sense. I lay like a log upon the ground. 

When I recovered my faculties a little, it was to find myself once morein the great vacant plain which surrounded that accursed home ofpleasure, --a great and desolate waste upon which I could see no track, which my heart fainted to look at, which no longer roused any hope in me, as if it might lead to another beginning, or any place in which yet atthe last it might be possible to live. As I lay in that horriblegiddiness and faintness, I loathed life and this continuance whichbrought me through one misery after another, and forbade me to die. Ohthat death would come, --death, which is silent and still, which makes nomovement and hears no sound! that I might end and be no more! Oh that Icould go back even to the stillness of that chamber which I had not beenable to endure! Oh that I could return, --return! to what? To othermiseries and other pain, which looked less because they were past. But Iknew now that return was impossible until I had circled all the dreadfulround; and already I felt again the burning of that desire that prickedand drove me on, --not back, for that was impossible. Little by little Ihad learned to understand, each step printed upon my brain as withred-hot irons: not back, but on, and on--to greater anguish, yes; but on, to fuller despair, to experiences more terrible, --but on, and on, and on. I arose again, for this was my fate. I could not pause even for all theteachings of despair. 

The waste stretched far as eyes could see. It was wild and terrible, withneither vegetation nor sign of life. Here and there were heaps of ruin, which had been villages and cities; but nothing was in them save reptilesand crawling poisonous life and traps for the unwary wanderer. How oftenI stumbled and fell among these ashes and dust-heaps of the past! Throughwhat dread moments I lay, with cold and slimy things leaving their traceupon my flesh! The horrors which seized me, so that I beat my headagainst a stone, --why should I tell? These were nought; they touched notthe soul. They were but accidents of the way. 

At length, when body and soul were low and worn out with misery andweariness, I came to another place, where all was so different from thelast that the sight gave me a momentary solace. It was full of furnacesand clanking machinery and endless work. The whole air round was aglowwith the fury of the fires; and men went and came like demons in theflames, with red-hot melting metal, pouring it into moulds and beatingit on anvils. In the huge workshops in the background there was aperpetual whir of machinery, of wheels turning and turning, and pistonsbeating, and all the din of labor, which for a time renewed the anguishof my brain, yet also soothed it, --for there was meaning in the beatingsand the whirlings. And a hope rose within me that with all the forcesthat were here, some revolution might be possible, --something that wouldchange the features of this place and overturn the worlds. I went fromworkshop to workshop, and examined all that was being done, andunderstood, --for I had known a little upon the earth, and my oldknowledge came back, and to learn so much more filled me with new life. The master of all was one who never rested, nor seemed to feelweariness nor pain nor pleasure. He had everything in his hand. All whowere there were his workmen or his assistants or his servants. No oneshared with him in his councils. He was more than a prince among them;he was as a god. And the things he planned and made, and at which inarmies and legions his workmen toiled and labored, were like livingthings. They were made of steel and iron, but they moved like the brainsand nerves of men. They went where he directed them, and did what hecommanded, and moved at a touch. And though he talked little, when hesaw how I followed all that he did, he was a little moved towards me, and spoke and explained to me the conceptions that were in his mind, onerising out of another, like the leaf out of the stem and the flower outof the bud. For nothing pleased him that he did, and necessity was uponhim to go on and on. 

'They are like living things, ' I said; 'they do your bidding, whateveryou command them. They are like another and a stronger race of men. '

'Men!' he said, 'what are men? The most contemptible of all things thatare made, --creatures who will undo in a moment what it has takenmillions of years, and all the skill and all the strength of generationsto do. These are better than men. They cannot think or feel. They cannotstop but at my bidding, or begin unless I will. Had men been made so, weshould be masters of the world. '

'Had men been made so, you would never have been, --for what could geniushave done or thought?--you would have been a machine like all the rest. '

'And better so!' he said, and turned away; for at that moment, watchingkeenly as he spoke the action of a delicate combination of movements, allmade and balanced to a hair's breadth, there had come to him suddenly theidea of something which made it a hundredfold more strong and terrible. For they were terrible, these things that lived yet did not live, whichwere his slaves and moved at his will. When he had done this, he lookedat me, and a smile came upon his mouth; but his eyes smiled not, nor everchanged from the set look they wore. And the words he spoke were familiarwords, not his, but out of the old life. 'What a piece of work is a man!'he said; 'how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty! in form andmoving how express and admirable! And yet to me what is thisquintessence of dust?' His mind had followed another strain of thought, which to me was bewildering, so that I did not know how to reply. Ianswered like a child, upon his last word. 

'We are dust no more, ' I cried, for pride was in my heart, --pride of himand his wonderful strength, and his thoughts which created strength, andall the marvels he did; 'those things which hindered are removed. Go on;go on! you want but another step. What is to prevent that you should notshake the universe, and overturn this doom, and break all our bonds?There is enough here to explode this gray fiction of a firmament, and torend those precipices, and to dissolve that waste, --as at the time whenthe primeval seas dried up, and those infernal mountains rose. '

He laughed, and the echoes caught the sound and gave it back as ifthey mocked it. 'There is enough to rend us all into shreds, ' he said, 'and shake, as you say, both heaven and earth, and these plains andthose hills. '

'Then why, ' I cried in my haste, with a dreadful hope piercing through mysoul--'why do you create and perfect, but never employ? When we hadarmies on the earth, we used them. You have more than armies; you haveforce beyond the thoughts of man, but all without use as yet. '

'All, ' he cried, 'for no use! All in vain!--in vain!'

'O master!' I said, 'great and more great in time to come, why?--why?'

He took me by the arm and drew me close. 

'Have you strength, ' he said, 'to bear it if I tell you why?'

I knew what he was about to say. I felt it in the quivering of my veins, and my heart that bounded as if it would escape from my breast; but Iwould not quail from what he did not shrink to utter. I could speak noword, but I looked him in the face and waited--for that which was moreterrible than all. 

He held me by the arm, as if he would hold me up when the shock ofanguish came. 'They are in vain, ' he said, 'in vain--because God rulesover all. '

His arm was strong; but I fell at his feet like a dead man. 

How miserable is that image, and how unfit to use! Death is still andcool and sweet. There is nothing in it that pierces like a sword, thatburns like fire, that rends and tears like the turning wheels. O life, Opain, O terrible name of God in which is all succor and all torment!What are pangs and tortures to that, which ever increases in its awfulpower, and has no limit nor any alleviation, but whenever it is spokenpenetrates through and through the miserable soul? O God, whom once Icalled my Father! O Thou who gavest me being, against whom I have fought, whom I fight to the end, shall there never be anything but anguish in thesound of Thy great name?

When I returned to such command of myself as one can have who has beentransfixed by that sword of fire, the master stood by me still. He hadnot fallen like me, but his face was drawn with anguish and sorrow likethe face of my friend who had been with me in the lazar-house, who haddisappeared on the dark mountains. And as I looked at him, terror seizedhold upon me, and a desire to flee and save myself, that I might not bedrawn after him by the longing that was in his eyes. 

The master gave me his hand to help me to rise, and it trembled, but notlike mine. 

'Sir, ' I cried, 'have not we enough to bear? Is it for hatred, is it forvengeance, that you speak that name?'

'O friend, ' he said, 'neither for hatred nor revenge. It is like a firein my veins; if one could find Him again!'

'You, who are as a god, who can make and destroy, --you, who could shakeHis throne!'

He put up his hand. 'I who am His creature, even here--and still Hischild, though I am so far, so far--' He caught my hand in his, andpointed with the other trembling. 'Look! your eyes are more clearthan mine, for they are not anxious like mine. Can you see anythingupon the way?'

The waste lay wild before us, dark with a faintly-rising cloud, fordarkness and cloud and the gloom of death attended upon that name. Ithought, in his great genius and splendor of intellect, he had gone mad, as sometimes may be. 'There is nothing, ' I said, and scorn came into mysoul; but even as I spoke I saw--I cannot tell what I saw--a moving spotof milky whiteness in that dark and miserable wilderness, no bigger thana man's hand, no bigger than a flower. 'There is something, ' I saidunwillingly; 'it has no shape nor form. It is a gossamer-web upon somebush, or a butterfly blown on the wind. '

'There are neither butterflies nor gossamers here. '

'Look for yourself, then!' I cried, flinging his hand from me. I wasangry with a rage which had no cause. I turned from him, though I lovedhim, with a desire to kill him in my heart, and hurriedly took the otherway. The waste was wild; but rather that than to see the man who mighthave shaken earth and hell thus turning, turning to madness and the awfuljourney. For I knew what in his heart he thought; and I knew that it wasso. It was something from that other sphere; can I tell you what? A childperhaps--O thought that wrings the heart!--for do you know what manner ofthing a child is? There are none in the land of darkness. I turned myback upon the place where that whiteness was. On, on, across the waste!On to the cities of the night! On, far away from maddening thought, fromhope that is torment, and from the awful Name!

 * * * * *

The above narrative, though it is necessary to a full understanding ofthe experiences of the Little Pilgrim in the Unseen, does not belong toher personal story in any way, but is drawn from the Archives in theHeavenly City, where all the records of the human race are laid up.