"Michael," said Orville, after a long and tiresome climb over a steep
part of the Road, "these rocks are sharp and treacherous, and I have
toiled hard and have made but very little progress."
"I know, master," said Michael, "but these rocks are the little faults
of our lives. Such rocks cover the mountain at this spot and are
constantly growing more numerous, yet one meets only one's own. The
Plain is not far away now. We are just reaching it, and these stones
are the only way to it."
"What Plain is it, Michael?" asked Orville.
"It is called, master," said Michael, "The Plain of Sinful Things. It
is between us and the foot of the Cross."
"Is it hard to pass over, Michael?" again asked Orville.
"It is very hard to most men, sir," said Michael. "No one knows how
hard who has not been on it; and yet when one has been over, one
remembers nothing, for all is forgotten when The Flaming Cross is
reached."
They stood now at the top of the stones, and on the edge of the vast
Plain, which lay white and scorching before them. Multitudes, as far
as the eye could see, were upon it. They struggled painfully along;
but none stopped to rest, for all faces were turned to The Flaming
Cross.
Michael took but one step and a great change came over him. Orville
looked at him again and again, but Michael did not seem to notice the
change in himself. His face shone with a marvelous beauty. His
garments became robes of brilliant white. About his head a light
played, the like of which Orville had never seen. It was more wondrous
than dreams of Paradise. His bleeding feet were healed and shone like
his visage. Orville thought that he heard sweet voices about Michael,
but voices which spoke to Michael only.
"Michael, my brother," he said, "what is this; tell me?" and Orville's
voice sounded soft, as if he were praying. "Michael, who are you?"
But Michael only smiled kindly and humbly. "I am none other than your
servant, sir," he answered. "He who serves, reigns; for his glory is
in the service. I will be with you to the foot of the Cross. In life
you were a good master. You will need me until you reach your own
Master there." Michael pointed to where the Cross shone out over the
blistering Plain.
Then they went on, but the heat penetrated to Orville's very marrow
and he seemed to faint under it, yet he always kept struggling
forward. The burning sands cooked his bleeding feet, but the anguish
did not halt him. Torrents of tears and sweat rolled down from him,
but his hunger for the Cross made him forget. To his pain-racked body
it felt as if the Cross gave out the great heat, but Orville was more
grateful than ever for it.
"Does this heat really come from the Cross, Michael?" he asked.
"Yes, from the Cross, master," said Michael, "for this is The Plain of
Sinful Things, and the Cross is the Sun of Justice."
Then like a flash Orville began to understand, even as Michael had
understood from the beginning. Michael saw the change in him. His face
became more radiant before he spoke.
"Master," he said, "my service is almost over. It was my prayer
constantly that I could return your goodness to me and mine; but on
earth you were rich and I was poor. Here, master, in The Land of the
Dead, I am rich and you are poor. God let me make my pilgrimage with
you. The child you buried when I had nothing, bore you over The Chasm
of Neglected Duties, where your hardest lot was to be found. You did
not even see another Chasm, which almost all meet, The Chasm of
Forgotten Things, for the prayers gathered in a little chapel which
you builded in a wilderness, a charity you forgot the day after you
did it, filled up the Chasm before you came to it. Here on The Plain
of Sinful Things we would naturally separate, for I had never wilfully
sinned against God. But you needed me, and He let me stay. Master,
your burden has fallen from you."
It was true. Orville was standing erect, with his eyes looking
straight at The Flaming Cross, which did not blind him. His burden had
vanished, and his face had almost the radiance of Michael's.
"The Cross is near you now, master. Look, It comes toward you. Your
pilgrimage is ending."
Orville could see It coming, gently and slowly. The Plain was now all
behind him, and yet it seemed as if he had scarcely gone over more
than a few yards of it. The harping of a thousand harps was not sweet
enough for the music that filled the air. Like the falling of many
waters in the distance came the promise of coolness to Orville's
parched throat and his burning lips. His breast heaved and he felt his
heart, full of Love, break in his bosom; but with it broke the bond of
Sin, and he knew that he was dead, indeed, to earth, as out from the
stainéd cover came his purified soul.
The Cross was close to him now. With his new spiritual vision he saw
that in form it was One like himself, but One with eyes that were soft
and mild and full of tenderness, with arms outstretched and
nail-prints like glittering gems upon them, with a wounded side and
out from it a flood pouring which cooled the parched sands, so that
from them the flowers sprang up, full panoplied in color, form and
beauty, and sweetly smelling. Around The Flaming Cross fluttered
countless wings, and childish voices made melody, soft and harmonious
beyond all compare. All else that Orville ever knew vanished before
the glance of the Beloved; faces and forms dearest and nearest, old
haunts and older affections, all were melted into this One Great Love
that is Eternal. The outstretched arms were wrapped around them. The
blood from the wounded side washed all their pains from them. On their
foreheads fell the Kiss of Peace, and Orville and Michael had come
home.