her look downward, the look of a human stag, at
the cool water which he might not reach and live, he turned himself
back to the mountains.

What happened to him then, and for many weary hours thereafter, it
would weary the spirit to tell: what plains he crossed, what hills he
climbed, and in what desolate wilderness he walked alone, with no one
for company save the unconscious man across his shoulder, and no eye
to look upon him save the eye of God.

And first he crossed a wide sea of lava dust, black as the ravens
that flew in the air above it, and bounded by hills as dark as the
earth that were themselves vast sand drifts blown up into strange and
terrible shapes by mighty tempests. Then he came upon a plain strewn
over with cinders, having a grim crag frowning upon it, like the bank
of a smelting-house, with its screes of refuse rolling down. By this
time the sun had risen high and grown hot, and the black ground under
his feet began to send up the reflection of the sun's rays into his
face to scorch it.

And still the cry of "water, water," rang in his ears, and his eyes
ranged the desolate land to find it, but never a sign of it could he
see, and his strong heart sank. Once, when he had mounted with great
toil to the top of a hill, where all behind him had been black and
burnt and blistered, he saw a wide valley stretching in front of him
that was as green as the grass of spring. And he thought that where
there was grass there would surely be water, streams of water, rivers
of water, pools of water, sunny stretches of sweet water lying clear
and quiet over amber pebbles and between soft brown banks of turf.

So at this sight his heart was lifted up, and bounding down the
hillside, over the lava blocks, as fast as he could go for his
burden, he began to sing from his cracked throat in his hoarse and
quavery voice. But when he reached the valley his song stopped, and
his heart sank afresh, for it was not grass, but moss that grew
there, and it lay only on big blocks of lava, with never a drop of
moisture or a handful of earth between them.

He was crushed, but he was strong of heart and would not despair. So
he pushed on over this green plain, through a hundred thousand mossy
mounds that looked like the graves of a world of dead men.

But when he came out of it his case seemed yet more forlorn, for
leaving the soft valley behind he had come upon a lava stream, a sea
of stones, not dust or cinders, but a bleach