over and past, it was so terrible to
think of that he paused and was silent awhile. And the little Pilgrim
put her hand upon his arm in her great pity, to soothe him, and almost
forgot that there was another traveller not yet delivered upon the way.
But suddenly at that moment there came up through the depths the sound of
a fall, as if the rocks had crashed from a hundred peaks, yet all muffled
by the great distance, and echoing all around in faint echoes, and
rumblings as in the bosom of the earth; and mingled with them were
far-off cries, so faint and distant that human ears could not have heard
them, like the cries of lost children, or creatures wavering and straying
in the midst of the boundless night. This time she who was watching upon
the edge of the gloom would have flung herself forward altogether into
it, had not her companion again restrained her. 'One has stumbled upon
the mountains; but listen, listen, little sister, for the voices are
many,' he said. 'It is not one who comes, but many; and though he falls
he will rise again.' And once more he shouted aloud, bending down against
the rocks, so that they caught his voice; and the sweet air from the
skies came behind him in a great gust like a summer storm, and carried it
into all the echoing hollows of the hills. And the little Pilgrim knew
that he shouted to all who came to take courage and not to fear. And
this time there rose upwards many faint and wavering sounds that did not
stir the air, but made it tingle with a vibration of the great distance
and the unknown depths; and then again all was still. They stood for a
time intent upon the great silence and darkness which swept up all sight
and sound, and then the little Pilgrim once more turned her eyes towards
her companion, and he began again his wonderful tale.

'He who had been the first to found the city, and who was the most wise
of any, though the rage was in him like all the rest, and the
disappointment and the anguish, yet would not yield. And he called upon
us for another trial, to make a picture which should be the greatest that
ever was painted; and each one of us, small or great, who had been of
that art in the dear life, took share in the rivalry and the emulation,
so that on every side there was a fury and a rush, each man with his band
of supporters about him struggling and swearing that his was the best.
Not that they loved the work or the beauty of the work, but to keep down
the gnawing in