her ear,--a sound which pierced through the music like lightning through
the sky, though it was but the cry of one distraught and fainting; a cry
out of the depths not even seeking help, a cry of distress too terrible
to be borne. Though it was scarcely louder than a sigh, she heard it
through all the music, and turned and flew to the edge of the precipice
whence it came. And immediately the darkness seemed to move as with a
pulse 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 who
had flung himself forward, his arms stretched out, his face to the
ground, as if he had seized and grasped in an agony the very soil. He lay
there, half in the light and half in the shadow, gripping the rocks with
his hands, burrowing into the cool herbage above and the mountain
flowers; clinging, catching hold, despairing, yet seizing everything he
could grasp,--the tender grass, the rolling stones. The little Pilgrim
flung herself down upon her knees by his side, and grasped his arm to
help, and cried aloud for aid; and the song of the singer ceased, and
there was silence for a moment, so that the breath of the fugitive could
be heard panting, and his strong struggle to drag himself altogether out
of that abyss of darkness below. She thought of nothing, nor heard nor
saw anything but the strain of that last effort which seemed to shake
the very mountains; until suddenly there seemed to rise all around the
hum and murmur as of a great multitude, and looking up, she saw every
little hill and hollow, and the glorious plain beyond as far as eye could
see, crowded with countless throngs; and on the high peaks above, in the
full shining of the sun, came bands of angels, and of those great beings
who are more mighty than men. And the eyes of all were fixed upon the man
who lay as one dead upon the ground, and from the lips of all came a low
murmur of rapture and delight, that spread like the hum of the bees, like
the cooing of the doves, like the voice of a mother over her child; and
the same sound came to her own lips unawares, and she murmured 'welcome'
and 'brother' and 'friend,' not knowing what she said; and looking to the
others, whispered, 'Hush! for he is weak'--and all of them answered with
tears, with 'hush' and 'welcome' and 'friend' and 'brother' and
'beloved,' and stood smiling and weeping for joy. And presently there
came softly into the blessed air the ringing of the great silver bells,
which sound only for victory and great happiness and gain. And there was
joy in heaven; and every world was stirred. And throughout the firmament,
and among all the lords and princes of life, it was known that the
impossible had become true, and the name of the Lord had proved
enough, and love had conquered even despair.
'Hush!' she said, 'for he is weak.' And because it was her blessed
service to receive those who had newly arrived in that heavenly country,
and to soothe and help them so that like newborn children they should be
able to endure and understand the joy, she knelt by him on the ground
and tried to rouse him, though with trembling, for never before had she
stood by one who was newly come out of the land of despair. 'Let the sun
come upon him,' she said; 'let him feel the brightness of the
light,'--and with her soft hands she drew him out of the shade of the
twilight to where the brightness of the day fell like a smile upon the
flowers. And then at last he stirred, and turned round and opened his
eyes, for the genial warmth had reached him. But his eyes were heavy and
dazzled with the light; and he looked round him as if confused from
beneath 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 name
of that heavenly place, and many comforting and joyful things. But he
understood her not, and still gazed about him with dazzled eyes, for his
face was still towards the darkness, and fear was upon him lest this
place should prove no more than a delusion, and the darkness return, and
the anguish and pain.
Then he who had been her guide, and told her his tale, came forward and
stood by the side of the newly come. And 'Brother,' he said, 'look upon
me, for you know me, and know from whence I come.'
The stranger looked dimly with his heavy eyes. And he replied, 'It is as
a dream that I know you, and know from whence you came. And the dream is
sweet 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 and
find 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 he
has arrived and is safe, and dreams no more?'
And they stood round him wondering, and troubled to find how little they
could do for him, and that the light entered so slowly into his soul. And
he lay on the bank like one left for death, so weary and so worn with
all the horrors of the way that his heart was faint within him, and peace
itself seemed to him but an illusion. He lay silent while they watched
and waited, then turned himself upon the grass, which was as soft to the
weary wayfarer as angels' wings; and then the sunshine caught his eye, as
if he had been a newborn babe awakened to the light. He put out his hand
to 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 wide
his dazzled eyes, then shaded them with trembling hands, and said to
himself, 'It is the sun; it is the sun!' But still he did not dare to
believe that the danger and the toil were over, nor could he listen, nor
understand what the brethren said. While they all stood around and
watched and waited, wondering each how the new-comer should be satisfied,
there suddenly arose a sound with which they were all acquainted,--the
sound of One approaching. The faces of the blessed were all around like
the stars in the sky,--multitudes whom none could count or reckon; but He
who came was seen of none, save him to whom He came. The weary man rose
up with a great cry, then fell again upon his knees, and flung his arms
wide 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 each
new-comer is the secret of the Lord. But when they looked again, the man
stood upright upon his feet, and his face was full of light; and though
he trembled with weakness and with weariness, and with exceeding joy, yet
the confusion and the fear were gone from him. And he had no longer any
suspicion of them, as if they might betray him, but held out his
trembling hands and cried, 'Friends,--you are friends? and you spoke to
me and called me brother? And am I here? And am I here?' For to name the
name of that blessed country was not needful any longer, now that he had
seen the Lord.
Then a great band and guard of honor, of angels and principalities and
powers, surrounded him, and led him away to the holy city, and to the
presence of the Father, who had permitted and had not forbidden what the
Lord had done. And all the companies of the blessed followed after with
wonder and gladness and triumph, because the great love of the Lord had
drawn out of the darkness even those who were beyond hope.
The little Pilgrim saw them depart from her with love and joy, and sat
down upon the rocky edge and sang her own song of peace; for her fear was
gone, and she was ready to do her service there upon the verge of the
precipice as among the flowers and the sunshine, where her own place was.
'From the depths,' she said, 'they come, they come!--from the land of
darkness, where no love is. For Thy love, O Lord, is more than the
darkness and the depths. And where hope is not, there Thy pity goes.' She
sat and sang to herself like a happy child, for her heart had fathomed
the awful gloom which baffles angels and men; and she had learned that
though hope comes to an end and light fails, and the feet of the
ambassadors are stayed on the mountains, and the voice of the pleaders is
silenced, and darkness swallows up the world, yet Love never fails. As
she sang, the pity in her heart grew so strong, and her desire to help
the lost, that she rose up and stepped forth into the awful gloom, and
had it been permitted, in her gentleness and weakness would have gone
forth to the deeps and had no fear.
The ground gave way under her feet, so dreadful was the precipice; but
though her heart beat with the horror of it, and the whirl of the descent
and the darkness which blinded her eyes, yet had she no hurt. And when
her foot touched the rock, and that sinking sense of emptiness and
vacancy ceased, she looked around and saw the path by which that
traveller had come. For when the eyes are used to the darkness, the
horror of the gloom was no longer like a solid thing, but moved into
shades 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 into
the abysses; and how here a deep ravine was rent between them, and there
were breaks and scars as though some one had caught the jagged points
with wounded hand or foot, struggling up the perpendicular surface
towards the little ray of light, like a tiny star which shone as on
immeasurable heights to show where life was. As she travelled deeper and
deeper, it was a wonder to see how far that little ray penetrated down
and down through gulfs of darkness, blue and cold like the shimmer of a
diamond, and even when it could be seen no more, sent yet a shadowy
refraction, a line of something less black than the darkness, a
lightening amid the gloom, a something indefinable which was hope. The
rocks were more cruel than imagination could conceive,--sometimes pointed
and sharp like knives, sometimes smooth and upright as a wall with no
hold for the climber, sometimes moving under the touch, with stones that
rolled and crushed the bleeding feet; and though the solid masses were
distinguishable from the lighter darkness of the air, yet it could only
be in groping that the travellers by that way could find where any
foothold was. The traveller who came from above, and who had the
privilege of her happiness, sank down as if borne on wings, yet needed
all her courage not to be afraid of the awful rocks that rose all above
and around her, perpendicular in the gloom. And the great blast of an icy
wind swept upwards like something flying upon great wings, so tremendous
was the force of it, whirling from the depths below, sucked upwards by
the very warmth of the life above; so that the little Pilgrim herself
caught at the rocks that she might not be swept again towards the top, or
dashed against the stony pinnacles that stood up on every side. She was
glad when she found a little platform under her feet for a moment where
she could rest, and also because she had come, not from curiosity to see
that gulf, but with the hope and desire to meet some one to whom she
could 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 that
some living thing was near; and putting out her hand she felt that there
was round her something that was like a bastion upon a fortified wall,
and immediately a hand touched hers, and a soft voice said, 'Sister, fear
not! for this is the watch-tower, and I am one of those who keep the
way.' She had started and trembled indeed, not that she feared, but
because the delicate fabric of her being was such that every movement of
the wind, and even those that were instinctive and belonged to the habits
of another life, betrayed themselves in her. And 'Oh,' she said, 'I knew
not that there were any watch-towers, or any one to help, but came
because my heart called me, if perhaps I might hold out my hand in the
darkness, and be of use where there was no light.'
'Come and stand by me,' said the watcher; and the little Pilgrim saw that
there was a whiteness near to her, out of which slowly shaped the face of
a fair and tender woman, whom she knew not, but loved. And though they
could scarcely see each other, yet they knew each other for sisters, and
kissed and took comfort together, holding each other's hands in the midst
of the awful gloom. And the little Pilgrim questioned in low and hushed
tones, 'Is it to help that you are here?'
'To help when that may be; but rather to watch, and to send the news and
make 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 you
honor,--for to gain such high promotion can be given only to the great
who are made perfect, and to those who love most.'
'I am not great,' said the watcher; 'but the Lord, who considers all, has
placed me here, that I may be the first to see when one comes who is in
the dark places below. And also because there are some who say that love
is 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 long
for the love I bear him. For he is mine; and when he comes I will ascend
with him to the dear country of the light, and some other who loves
enough 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 to
clear the way!'
'Nay, my little sister,' said the watcher, 'but patience must have its
perfect work; and for those who are coming help is secret. They must not
see it nor know it, for the land of darkness is beyond hope. The Father
will not force the will of any creature He has made, for He respects us
in our nature, which is His image. And when a man will not, and will not
till 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 is
great, for it is the gift of God. But the Lord, who cannot rest while one
is miserable, still goes secretly to them, for His heart yearns after
them. And by times they will see His face, or some thought of old will
seize upon them. And some will say, "To perish upon the dark mountains is
better than to live here." And I have seen,' said the watcher, 'that the
Lord will go with them all the way--but secretly, so that they cannot see
Him. And though it grieves His heart not to help, yet will He not,--for
they have become the creatures of their own will, and by that must they
attain.' She put out her hand to the new-comer and drew her to the side
of the rocky wall, so that they felt the sweep of the wind in their
faces; but were not driven before it. 'And come,' she said, 'for two of
us 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 know
not why we are here. Listen!' she cried. And the little Pilgrim, holding
fast the hand of the watcher, listened and looked down upon the awful
way; and underneath the sweep of the icy wind was a small sharp sound as
of a stone rolling or a needle of rock that broke and fell, like the
sounds that are in a wood when some creature moves, though too far off
for footstep to sound. 'Listen!' said the watcher; and her face so shone
with joy that the little Pilgrim saw it clearly, like the shining of the
morning 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; if
it is not he now, yet his time will come. And in every one who passes, I
hope to see his face; and the more that come, the more certain it is
that 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 some
one comes.'
And there came to these watchers the strangest sight; for there flew past
them while they gazed a man who seemed to be carried upon the sweep of
the wind. In the midst of the darkness they could see the faint white in
his face, with eyes of flame and lips set firm, whirled forward upon the
wind, which would have dashed him against the rocks; but as he whirled
past, he caught with his hand the needles of the opposite peaks, and was
swung high over a great chasm, and landed upon a higher height, high over
their heads. And for a moment they could hear, like a pulsation through
the depths, the hard panting of his breath; then, with scarcely a moment
for rest, they heard the sound of his progress onward, as if he did
battle with the mountain, and his own swiftness carried him like another
wind. It had taken less than a moment to sweep him past, quicker than the
flight of a bird, as sudden as a lightning flash. The little Pilgrim
followed him with her eager ears, wondering if he would leap thus into
the country of light and take heaven by storm, or whether he would fall
upon the heavenly hills, and lie prostrate in weariness and exhaustion,
like him to whom she had ministered. She followed him with her ears, for
the sound of his progress was with crashing of rocks and a swift movement
in the air; but she was called back by the pressure of the hand of the
watcher, who did not, like the little Pilgrim, follow him who thus rushed
through space as far as there was sound or sight of him, but had turned
again to the lower side, and was gazing once more, and listening for the
little noises in the gulf below. The little Pilgrim remembered her
friend's hope, and said softly, 'It was not he?' And the watcher clasped
her hand again, and answered, 'It was a dear brother. I have sounded the
silver bells for him; and soon we shall hear them answering from the
heights above. And another time it will be he.' And they kissed each
other because they understood each the other in her heart.
And then they talked together of the old life when all things began; and
of the wonderful things they had learned concerning the love of the
Father and the Son; and how all the world was held by them and
penetrated through and through by threads of love, so that it could
never fail. And the darkness seemed light round them; and they forgot
for a little that the wind was not as a summer breeze. Then once more
the hand of the watcher pressed that of her companion, and bade her hush
and listen; and they sat together holding their breath, straining their
ears. Then heard they faint sounds which were very different from those
made by him who had been driven past them like an arrow from a
bow,--first as of something falling, but very far away, and a faint
sound as of a foot which slipped. The listeners did not say a word to
each other; they sat still and listened, scarcely drawing their breath.
The darkness had no voice; it could not be but that some traveller was
there, though hidden deep, deep in the gloom, only betrayed by the
sound. There was a long pause, and the watcher held fast the little
Pilgrim's hand, and betrayed to her the longing in her heart; for though
she was already blessed beyond all blessedness known on earth, yet had
she 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; and
the more that come, the more sure it is that he will come. Little
sister, 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 companion
with her to the edge of the abyss, and they sat down upon it low among
the rocks to escape the rushing of the wind. And they sang together a
soft song; 'For if he should hear us,' she said, 'it may give him
courage.' And there they sat and sang; and the white of their garments
and of their heavenly faces showed like a light in the deep gloom, so
that he who was toiling upwards might see that speck above him, and be
encouraged to continue upon his way.
Sometimes he fell, and they could hear the moan he made,--for every sound
came upwards, however small and faint it might be,--and sometimes dragged
himself along, so that they heard his movement up some shelf of rock. And
as the Pilgrim looked, she saw other and other dim whitenesses along the
ravines 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 had
been lost.
Time was as nothing to these heavenly watchers; but they knew how long
and terrible were the moments to those upon the way. Sometimes there
would be silence like the silence of long years; and fear came upon them
that the wayfarer had turned back, or that he had fallen, and lay
suffering at the bottom of some gulf, or had been swept by the wind upon
some icy peak and dashed against the rocks. Then anon, while they
listened and held their breath, a little sound would strike again into
the silence; bringing back hope; and again and again all would be still.
The little Pilgrim held her companion's hand; and the thought went
through her mind that were she watching for one whom she loved above the
rest, her heart would fail. But the watcher answered her as if she had
spoken, 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 being
faint with suspense and with eagerness to hear every sound.
Then in the great chill of the silence, suddenly, and not far off, came
the sound of one who spoke. He murmured to himself and said, 'Who can
continue on this terrible way? The night is black like hell, and there
comes no morning. It was better in the land of darkness, for still we
could see the face of man, though not God.' The muffled voice shook at
that word, and then was still suddenly, as though it had been a flame and
the wind had blown it out. And for a moment there was silence; until
suddenly it broke forth once more,--
'What is this that has come to me that I can say the name of God? It
tortures 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 not
hear. I will lie down and die. It cannot be that a man must live and live
forever in pain and anguish. Here will I lie, and it will end. O Thou
whose 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 upright
upon the edge of the cliff, clasping her hands together and saying low,
as to herself, 'Father, Father!' as one who cannot refrain from that
appeal, but who knows the Father loves best, and that to intercede is
vain; and longing was in her face and joy. For it was he, and she knew
that he could not now fail, but would reach to the celestial country and
to the shining of the sun; yet that it was not hers to help him, nor any
man's, nor angel's. But the little Pilgrim was ignorant, not having been
taught; and she committed herself to those depths, though she feared
them, and though she knew not what she could do. And once more the dense
air closed over her, and the vacancy swallowed her up, and when she
reached the rocks below, there lay something at her feet which she felt
to be a man; but she could not see him nor touch him, and when she tried
to speak, her voice died away in her throat and made no sound. Whether it
was the wind that caught it and swept it quite away, or that the well of
that depth profound sucked every note upwards, or whether because it was
not permitted that either man or angel should come out of their sphere,
or help be given which was forbidden, the little Pilgrim knew not,--for
never 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 a
great dismay, took hold upon her,--for she understood not how it was that
the bond of silence should bind her, and that she should be unable to put
forth her hand to help him whom she heard moaning and murmuring, but
could 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 her
not 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 that
a little love should be near.