DANGEROUS HEIGHTS.
Amer's path did not lay long beside that of his friends. He parted from
them at the top of a beautiful green hill, dotted over with flowers.
He had been climbing ever since he had left the dark forest, but now
as he looked up and saw the towering mountains before him, the green
hill dwindled to a valley in his estimation. Stern rocks and steep
precipices confronted him, as after waving his farewell to his friends
whose path still lay along the gentle slopes, he eagerly set out alone
again on his journey.
Where his path would lead him he did not know. He only knew he was
on the way to his King, and instead of having to walk through the
darkness, he was to scale the heights, and somewhere, far, far above
him was the Radiant City.
He opened his Guide Book to make quite sure of the way, and though
within its pages he found words which strengthened him and encouraged
him, he also found a warning which he pondered over for some time.
"'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.'"
Clasping his Guide Book in one hand and his sword in the other, he
continued to mount. The way at first was not difficult. It was a
gradual slope by the side of high cliffs, and occasionally out of
the rock there flowed past him a stream of cool water, with which he
quenched his thirst. The scenery was magnificent, but all the time he
felt conscious, that though the enemies of the road had as yet made no
sign of their presence, they were not likely to be far off, so that it
was not wise to loiter on the way.
As he ascended higher the path became steeper, the scenery more awful
in its character, but the air was exhilarating. Frowning precipices
confronted him, masses of rocks piled one on the top of the other rose
before his view, deep gorges and chasms lay beneath him. Wherever he
looked he was fascinated by its grandeur and awed by its impressiveness.
Higher and higher his path led him, till he felt himself to be at so
giddy a height that he trembled, though rejoicing.
He remembered when he had first started out on his journey, mounting a
hill and crying out in his exuberance of spirits and pride,
"'I shall never be removed: Thou Lord of Thy goodness hast made my hill
so strong:'" and he recollected how the words had scarcely left his
mouth, when the enemy, Spiritual Pride, in all his grand trappings, had
accosted him and led him to what might have been his ruin. How soon he
had had to change his cry and say:—
"'Thou didst turn Thy face from me and I was troubled.'"
The remembrance of those days, together with the warning he had read
in his Guide Book, kept him on the watch, and forbade him thinking of
his own strength or ability. And whenever he was tempted to think that
he must be a brave soldier to have been led by this path, he put the
thought away from him; he knew when such thoughts crossed his mind that
the enemy was near.
At last, at a giddy height he came to a standstill, discovering that
his path lay across a narrow bridge which spanned a deep, dark gorge,
so deep and so dark that Amer could not see the bottom.
The bridge was nothing but a natural arch of rock, about a foot wide,
with no protection on either side. At so giddy a height was it that he
nearly fainted at the sight. It seemed to him that it was impossible
not to fall, and to cross it was to court death. Moreover as he stood
leaning on his sword at the edge of the gorge across which he had to
go, he became aware that the rocks and cliffs were riddled with caves,
and far down below he caught sight of small figures moving in and out
of them, figures which, as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light,
he saw were clad in darkness and gloom.
They were in a state of excitement, as if preparing for a great event,
for they were running to and fro, intent on some business. It would be
into their care he would be hurled were he to lose his footing.
Looking still more steadily down, he became aware of what looked like
a regiment of armed soldiers about half-way down the cliff, and their
armour he recognised as that of the soldiers of Spiritual Pride, red
and gold. These were not busy as those further down seemed to be, but
were standing perfectly still, with bows and arrows in their hands, the
arrows being directed towards the narrow bridge across which Amer's
path lay.
At the sight his courage failed,
"I must perish! I must perish!" he cried, while the veins stood out on
his forehead like cords, so great was his fear and anguish of mind.
At these words he suddenly felt his ankles twitched and on looking down
he beheld his old enemies, the Morbids, clinging about him. But with a
sudden angry blow from his sword they fled. He would have nothing to do
with them.
He looked around for a way of escape. Could he have missed his path?
Was there not the choice of an easier road? not perhaps so honourable
but less terrifying by which he might avoid the bridge? But no! There
was no sign of any other way but that which he felt he could not
possibly take.
Then he bethought him of his Guide Book. Was there any word therein
which might comfort him in this great strait? And there he found that
instead of one passage there were many which seemed exactly to fit his
need: they were as follows:—
"'Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God:
I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold him
with the right hand of my righteousness.'"
"'I will guide thee with mine eye.' 'Looking unto Jesus.'"
"'My strength is made perfect in weakness.'"
As he read, his courage returned to him, and he prepared for the effort.
Fully clad in the King's armour he set his foot on the bridge, and to
his comfort he noticed that right across it there was flung the shadow
of a cross, and that every step he took placed him more within the
shadow which wrapped him round like a wall. He was conscious at the
same time of the noise of arrows whizzing fast past him. Some indeed
were so well aimed as to light on his breastplate and shield, but
glanced off leaving him unhurt. Others fell thick around his helmet so
that he was almost deafened by their noise, and had it not been for the
fact that he knew he was enwrapped by the shadow of the Cross, would
so have unnerved him, that he must have fallen. For there were not
only the poisoned arrows of the soldiers belonging to Spiritual Pride
falling around him on every side, but there was the dark abyss below
him, in which he knew the allies of Despondency and Despair were making
ready and preparing for his fall.
Moreover whenever he thought of them or for a moment looked down, he
tottered. He found his only safety lay in looking towards the Radiant
City, where dwelt his King. And whenever he directed his eyes upwards,
he was conscious of a wonderful peace stealing over him, peace even in
the midst of hurling darts, and the hisses of the arrows striking his
armour.
So full was Amer of gratitude and thanksgiving to the King for
preserving him in his great danger, and so conscious of His Presence,
that he had not seen a small band of pilgrims awaiting him on the other
side of the bridge, and was taken quite by surprise, when, on arriving
in safety on firm ground, his hands were grasped enthusiastically,
and words of welcome were showered upon him. So little had he thought
of his own courage or ability in passing unscathed through the darts
of the enemy, and so full had he been of thoughts of his King, that
when he heard the exclamations of wonder at his prowess from those who
gathered around him, he began for the first time to think of his own
part in the matter.
The pilgrims, who had been led by a less conspicuous path, and had
arrived just in time to see Amer, notwithstanding the many darts from
the enemies below which were being hurled at him, calmly walking with
his eyes raised towards the Radiant City across the dangerous pass,
fell to praising him and congratulating him, and among their voices
Amer recognised those of Belthiah and Iddo.
"Dear Amer," cried Iddo, clasping his hand within hers and looking at
him with eyes that shone like stars, "we are proud to call you friend.
How much you must be thought of by our King to have been led by such a
path, so high and so dangerous. I am glad that you are my friend."
"You are an example to us all," said another. "Oh that I had more
courage and more faith. We shall not forget what we have seen to-day."
"How was it," asked a third, "that you walked so straight and did not
falter? I know few who could have crossed unscathed as you have done.
The height alone is enough to have made any man giddy and lose his
head."
"It was no doing of mine," said Amer, but the praise was sweet to him.
He had not seen some half-dozen of the soldiers of Spiritual Pride,
having been foiled of their endeavour to bring him to ruin while
crossing the bridge, leave their posts and begin hurriedly to scale the
rocks so as to meet him as he landed in safety on the other side; and
he did not know that the thoughts which began to course through his
mind at the words of his friends, were in reality small poisoned darts
thrown by these same enemies.
Meanwhile he stood listening to his new and old friends'
congratulations, with a sense of pleasure: and so well did his enemies
do their work that he gradually began to talk to his friends of
his sensations when on the bridge, and with a comfortable sense of
superiority gave helpful advice, as he thought, to those around him who
might be called upon to endure a similar experience. Indeed he began
to think of himself as a hero, and as his path lay for some time in
the same direction as that of many of the pilgrims, he found himself
listening with interested attention to the talk of some who were behind
him and who were making him the subject of their conversation. In fact
he became greedy of human praise, and was quite vexed with one of the
pilgrims who had all the time maintained silence.
This pilgrim was a man some years older than Amer, who often looked at
him earnestly but did not add one word of praise to those which were
being showered upon him. Amer noticed too, with chagrin, that this man
took pains to walk continually by his side, which effectually prevented
others, who were greater admirers, from getting near him.
At last so earnest was the man's look and so grave, that Amer felt
impelled to enquire as to its cause.
"Friend," he said, "may I know your thoughts?"
"I will give them if you wish," was the answer, "but I fear they will
not be such as you are accustomed to hearing. Nevertheless, I take
such an interest in you and am so anxious that you should in no wise
disappoint our King, that should you desire it I will tell you what is
in my mind."
Amer, having by this time become accustomed to praise, changed
countenance, and an expression which till now had been foreign to his
face crossed it, but he answered,
"I am ready to hear."
"It is sad," said the man slowly, "how one pilgrim can hinder another.
These fellow soldiers around us have, it seems to me, been used by the
enemy to your hurt."
"Indeed?" said Amer, coldly.
"Friend," continued the man, "you did not see what I saw, the soldiers
of Spiritual Pride scaling the cliffs and take their position by your
side."
Amer looked round sharply.
"I see no sign of them," he said.
"Nay, but do not you know by this time, that those who they attack are
very often the last to perceive their presence."
"Well," said Amer, "I do not know after all, even if what you say is
true, why I should be so surprised. They generally attack the bravest
soldiers of the King."
The man looked at him sadly.
"Disappoint not our King," he urged. "He has done so much for you
in saving you when in such peril; I pray you to keep humble, and to
remember that you owe all your safety to Him and not to your own
prowess."
"You speak truly," said Amer, in a somewhat superior tone of voice.
"No one knows better than I, that great truth; but I think perhaps you
forget that it may dishonour the King as much to deny what He has done
for you—the courage He has given you, the wisdom He has imparted to
you—as to speak too much of it."
The man who was old enough to be Amer's grandfather did not resent
the sermon that had been delivered with a certain amount of conceit.
But he was silent for a moment. Then looking quietly with his clear
penetrating eyes at his companion, he said slowly,
"'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall,'" and with
the words he left Amer and followed his own path which at that moment
led away from that of the other pilgrims.
Amer looked after him with mingled feelings of vexation and respect.
Then remembering the words just spoken, turned him about to see if he
could detect any signs of his enemies. But they had carefully hidden
themselves.
His sober reveries were disturbed by the voice of one of the pilgrims.
"We are thankful that our path leads us the same way as yours for a
time, as we feel we have the advantage of your company. You have had
so much more experience than we have that we know we shall be safe
following your example and advice. No doubt you will be able to point
out dangers in the road and will be the first to detect the presence of
the enemy."
The words which would have filled Amer with pleasure a few moments
before, had now rather the opposite effect, because of the conversation
which had so lately taken place.
"Nay friend," he answered in a depressed tone of voice, "I do not see
that my example is worth much, neither am I capable of giving you any
better advice than others."
"It is only your humility that makes you say this," answered his
companion. "I have always known that the bravest, noblest, most
courageous of the King's servants are the most humble;" and at these
words the other pilgrims, Belthiah and Iddo among them, drew near, and
asked him for his experiences and for instruction.
Amer found it a much pleasanter occupation to listen to them than to
the warnings of the stranger. But he did not know that as he talked,
the expression of his face gradually altered, and the light from the
Radiant City became dimmed to him. He was now full of himself, and
talked freely about his experiences on the road; and the enemies which
followed him just out of sight, but near enough to throw their darts
through the chinks of his armour, which was beginning to hang about him
loosely, laughed to themselves. The rule, which they always looked at
before they started forth to warfare, "Get the man to talk of himself,"
had been most successfully obeyed.
As the pilgrims turned a corner of the road they came in sight of a
child sitting alone, and crying.
A short time ago Amer would have gone to his aid at once and befriended
him, for was he not one of the Brothers of Assistance? But now he
looked around and at his glance one of the company took the matter in
hand.
"It is as well," thought Amer. "That is a work anyone can do, it does
not require talent nor any special capability to attend to or help a
child. Anyhow it is not my work, as it would be a waste of my powers.
My business is to lead others: all these people are hanging on my words
and I must not disappoint them."
The people who thronged around Amer were not all of the same position
of life. Some of them wore more costly garments than others, and their
manner and conversation proved them to be superior in culture and
intellect.
An enemy with whom Amer had had to do while staying in Achshaph, took
advantage of this fact to tempt him.
"It will be to your advantage," he whispered, "to make much of these
influential people."
Amer did not recognize the voice of the enemy, so his sword lay idle
in its scabbard, and he began to pay more attention to the cultured
pilgrims than to the humbler ones among them. But at times he felt
uneasy, and certain words he had read in the Guide Book recurred again
and again to his mind: "'My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord
Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect of persons.'"
"But," whispered the enemy, when he found Amer thinking of these words,
"to be popular with these influential people means that you will
attract a crowd to hear your good advice, and so it will help rather
than hinder the King's work." And so, for awhile, Amer was noticed to
spend much of his time with them, to the neglect of the poorer among
the pilgrims, and so well did his enemies do their work, that he was
quite unconscious that the Radiant City was growing dim to his eyes.
But the young girl who had stayed to succour the child was before long
seen hurrying after him with a face full of joy.
"Oh how good it was of you," she cried to Amer, "to let me do that bit
of work. The poor little boy was sick and suffering. As I tended him
and tried to dry his tears, a bright angel came from the King to take
him to the Radiant City; and," she added in a soft, awed tone of voice,
"the angel gave me a message from the King."
"A message?" repeated Amer.
"Yes," said the girl softly, "a message straight from the King Himself."
"What was the message?"
"' Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my
brethren, ye have done it unto Me.'"
Amer was silent and ashamed, while a sudden craving for his King's
approbation took possession of him, and made him realize for the
first time that the Radiant City had almost faded from his sight and
that he was out of touch with it. It was with a start that he noticed
its dimness. Was the stranger right then? Had he through pride and
carelessness drifted into the hands of the enemy? He grasped his sword,
which for some time had hung idle by his side, and cried out to his
King.