odded in token of assent.
We went quickly down the stairway, and took our way up the hill among
the stones, in silence. The shapes of similar enclosures were to be seen
everywhere, and the indescribable blankness and grimness of the scene
struck a chill to my heart.

From the top of the ridge we could see the same bare valleys stretching
in all directions, as far as the eye could see. The only other building
in sight was a great circular tower of stone, far down in the valley,
from which beat the pulse of some heavy machinery, which gave the sense,
I do not know how, of a ghastly and watchful life at the centre of all.

"That is the Tower of Pain," said Amroth, "and I will spare you the
inner sight of that. Only our very bravest and strongest can enter there
and preserve any hope. But it is well for you to know it is there, and
that souls have to enter it. It is thence that all the pain of countless
worlds emanates and vibrates, and the governor of the place is the most
tried and bravest of all the servants of God. Thither we must go, for
you shall have sight of him, though you shall not enter."

We went down the hill with all the speed we might, and, I will confess
it, with the darkest dismay I have ever experienced tugging at my heart.
We were soon at the foot of the enormous structure. Amroth knocked at
the gate, a low door, adorned with some vague and ghastly sculptures,
things like worms and huddled forms drearily intertwined. The door
opened, and revealed a fiery and smouldering light within. High up in
the tower a great wheel whizzed and shivered, and moving shadows
crossed and recrossed the firelit walls.

But the figure that came out to us--how shall I describe him? It was the
most beautiful and gracious sight of all that I saw in my pilgrimage. He
was a man of tall stature, with snow-white, silvery hair and beard,
dressed in a dark cloak with a gleaming clasp of gold. But for all his
age he had a look of immortal youth. His clear and piercing eye had a
glance of infinite tenderness, such as I had never conceived. There were
many lines upon his brow and round his eyes, but his complexion was as
fresh as that of a child, and he stepped as briskly as a youth. We bowed
low to him, and he reached out his hands, taking Amroth's hand and mine
in each of his. His touch had a curious thrill, the hand that held mine
being firm and smooth and wonderfully warm.

"Well, my children," he said in a clear, youthful voice,