"Yes; your father," said Michael. "You had more charity than he, and
when you did give you gave with better motives; yet he always saw the
Cross more plainly than you. He was filled with Faith."
"Is it possible that I will be able to help him when I get to his
side?" asked Callovan.
"I think," replied Michael, "that you may; but you could have helped
him better in life by prayers and the Great Sacrifice. You probably
may go along with him, when you reach him, for you both see the Cross,
and perhaps you will be allowed to aid him up the mountain."
They had by this time reached the first steps of the climb. Orville
could read the words which marked the mountain road: "THE ROAD OF PAIN
AND HOPE."
"But the Cross draws much of the pain out of it," said Michael. "We
must leave you here, sir," he said to Callovan, turning to him. "You
have far to go to reach your father; but your load is heavier than my
master's, and then you must be lonely for a while."
"But why must I be lonely?" asked Callovan.
"For many reasons, sir," replied Michael. "You will know them all as
you go along. Knowledge will come. I may tell you but a few things
now. In life you loved company, and it was often an occasion of sin to
you. You go alone for a while in the Land of Death, on this pilgrimage
to the Cross, so that you may contemplate God, Whom you failed to
enjoy by meditation, when you could have had Him alone. Then you have
few to pray for you now, for such companions as you had in life did
not and do not pray. They will cover your coffin with flowers; but the
only prayers will be those of the poor whom you befriended. One
priest, after your funeral, will offer the Great Sacrifice for you. He
was a friend whom you helped to educate. He will remember you at your
burial, and again, too, before the climb is over."
"But, Michael," said Callovan, "I gave a great deal to many good
works. Will none of the gifts count for me?"
"Yes, sir, it is true that you did give much, but," answered Michael,
"the gifts were offerings more often to your own vanity than they were
to God. Motives alone govern the value of sacrifice in the Land of
Death. Look, now, behind you. There is one who can best answer your
question."
Callovan turned to see an old and venerable looking man at the fork of
the roads. He was gazing anxiously at the mountain, as if he dimly saw
the Cross; but his burden was terrific in its weight. It rested on the
ground before him. He scarcely had the courage to take the mountain
road, knowing that the burden must go with him.
"I have seen that man before," said Orville. "They gave him a
reception at our club once. He was a great philanthropist--yet, look
at his burden."
"Philanthropist he was, but I fear he will go on The Road without
Ending," said Michael. "He has many amongst those who can hate for
eternity to hate him."
Suddenly from the multitude of the dead came men and women, who looked
with hatred upon the old man, and surrounded him on every side and
menaced him with threatening fists. "Beast!" shouted one. "I saw the
Cross in life, when I was young. The unbelief your work taught denies
me the sight of it in death. I curse you!"
"One year in the schools you founded," wailed another, "lost me my
God."
"Why do you stand at the foot of the hill of the Cross, you
hypocrite?" cried another. "You have, in the name of a false science,
encouraged by your gifts, destroyed the Faith of thousands. You shall
not go by The Road of Pain and Hope, even though you might have to
climb till Judgment. You shall go with us."
Screaming in terror, the old man was dragged away. They could hear his
voice in the distance, as the multitude drove him along The Road
without Ending.
"Alas, I understand--now," sadly said Callovan. He gazed at his
friends with some of the pain of his coming solitude in his eyes.
"Good-bye. Shall we meet again?"
Michael answered: "We shall meet again. Your pain may be very great;
but there is an end. He who sets his foot on this Road has a promise
which makes even pain a blessing."
Callovan was left behind, for Orville and Michael climbed faster than
he.
"Michael," said his master, "I am greatly favored. He was much better
in life than I, yet now he climbs alone."
"You are not favored, sir," answered Michael. "Many pray for you,
because you loved the poor and sheltered and aided them. He has all
that is his, all that belongs to him. You have all that is yours. Do
not forget that we are marching toward the Sun of Justice."
And so they went on, over The Road of Pain and Hope. Orville's feet
were weary and bleeding. His hands and knees were bruised by falls.
The adders stung him and the thorns pierced him. Cold rain chilled him
and warm blasts oppressed him. He was one great pain; but within a
voice that was his own kept saying: "I go to the Cross, I go to the
Cross," and he forgot the suffering. He thought of earth for an
instant; but the thought brought him no longing to return. His breast
was swelling and seemed bursting with a wonderful great Love that made
him content with every tortured step. He even seemed to love the pain;
and he could not stop, nor could he rest for the Flaming Cross that
was drawing him on. He longed for it with a burning and intense
desire. His eyes were wet with the tears of devotion, and his whole
being cried out: "More pain, O Lord! more pain, if only I may sooner
reach the Cross!"
But Michael tried to ease his master's burden.