suddenly to me, and I sat up. Amroth was holding me in his arms close to
the spot from which I had sprung.

"Have I been dreaming?" I said. "Was it here? and when? I cannot
remember. It seems impossible, but was I told to jump down? What has
happened to me? I am confused."

"You will know presently," said Amroth, in a tone from which all the
fear seemed to have vanished. "It is all over, and I am thankful. Do not
try to recollect; it will come back to you presently. Just rest now; you
have been through strange things."

Suddenly a thought began to shape itself in my mind, a thought of
perfect and irresistible joy.

"Yes," I said, "I remember now. We were afraid, both of us, and you told
me to leap down. But what was it that I saw, and what was it that was
told me? I cannot recall it. Oh," I said at last, "I know now; it comes
back to me. I fell, in hideous cowardice and misery. The wind blew
shrill. I saw the cliffs stream past; then I was unconscious, I think.
I seem to have died; but part of me was not dead. My flight was stayed,
and I floated out somewhere. I was joined to something that was like
both fire and water in one. I was seen and known and understood and
loved, perfectly and unutterably and for ever. But there was pain,
somewhere, Amroth! How was that? I am sure there was pain."

"Of course, dear child," said Amroth, "there was pain, because there was
everything."

"But," I said, "I cannot understand yet; why was that terrible leap
demanded of me? And why did I confront it with such abject cowardice and
dismay? Surely one need not go stumbling and cowed into the presence of
God?"

"There is no other way," said Amroth; "you do not understand how
terrible perfect love is. It is because it is perfect that it is
terrible. Our own imperfect love has some weakness in it. It is mixed
with pleasure, and then it is not a sacrifice; one gives as much of
oneself as one chooses; one is known just so far as one wishes to be
known. But here with God there must be no concealment--though even there
a man can withhold his heart from God--God never uses compulsion; and
the will can prevail even against Him. But the reason of the leap that
must be taken is this: it is the last surrender, and it cannot be made
on our terms and conditions; it must be absolute. And what I feared for
you was not anything that would happen if you did commit yourself to
God, but what would happen if you did not; for, of course, you could
h