the women whose admiration he had secured would not
have turned from him as from the monster of an old tale.

Robert wandered about till he was so weary that his head ached with
weariness. At length he came upon the open space before the cathedral,
whence the poplar-spire rose aloft into a blue sky flecked with white
clouds. It was near sunset, and he could not see the sun, but the upper
half of the spire shone glorious in its radiance. From the top his eye
sank to the base. In the base was a little door half open. Might
not that be the lowly narrow entrance through the shadow up to the
sun-filled air? He drew near with a kind of tremor, for never before
had he gazed upon visible grandeur growing out of the human soul, in
the majesty of everlastingness--a tree of the Lord's planting. Where had
been but an empty space of air and light and darkness, had risen, and
had stood for ages, a mighty wonder awful to the eye, solid to the
hand. He peeped through the opening of the door: there was the foot of
a stair--marvellous as the ladder of Jacob's dream--turning away towards
the unknown. He pushed the door and entered. A man appeared and barred
his advance. Robert put his hand in his pocket and drew out some silver.
The man took one piece--looked at it--turned it over--put it in his
pocket, and led the way up the stair. Robert followed and followed and
followed.

He came out of stone walls upon an airy platform whence the spire
ascended heavenwards. His conductor led upward still, and he followed,
winding within a spiral network of stone, through which all the world
looked in. Another platform, and yet another spire springing from its
basement. Still up they went, and at length stood on a circle of stone
surrounding like a coronet the last base of the spire which lifted its
apex untrodden. Then Robert turned and looked below. He grasped the
stones before him. The loneliness was awful.

There was nothing between him and the roofs of the houses, four hundred
feet below, but the spot where he stood. The whole city, with its red
roofs, lay under him. He stood uplifted on the genius of the builder,
and the town beneath him was a toy. The all but featureless flat spread
forty miles on every side, and the roofs of the largest buildings below
were as dovecots. But the space between was alive with awe--so vast, so
real!

He turned and descended, winding through the network of stone which was
all between him and space. The object