mountains; the mould collected on the walls as fast as he swept
it down, and the weeds hung from the roof in thicker masses.
Nevertheless, if he stopped to take breath or rest, down came the
heavy whip with relentless blows; his skin was cut and bleeding, his
face was bruised, and the bones of his back were broken. With tears
and groans he struggled on; and ever and anon in the darkness near him
his ear caught the sound of sobbing and piteous cries, and the voice
that uttered them reminded him of the voice of Callia.

Thus he strove for many weary hours; and at last it seemed to him that
he could strive no more, yet half his work was still undone. But the
thought that, unless it were finished, he would see Callia no more,
gave him new strength, and he fell to again, and worked like a
whirlwind; and the mountains of mud gave way before him, and the mould
fell from the walls in showers, and the dangling weeds were swept down
in mighty heaps. And although the blows of the whip still fell, they
no longer weakened him as before, but made his strength greater.
Indeed, it seemed to him as if he were inspired with a strength not
his own, and as if, when the work were done, it would be the
achievement not of himself, but of a mightier than he. In the midst of
these thoughts the gloom suddenly brightened, and he saw that his work
was done.

'Well, Calladon, what do you think of yourself?' said the tall man, in
a somewhat less stern tone than before. 'Are you as handsome as you
once were?'

So Calladon looked at himself; and he saw that he was begrimed with
dirt, and that his back had been broken by the whip, and one shoulder
made higher than the other; and his face was bruised and covered with
sores. There was nothing beautiful about him.

'I have become what the mirror has already showed me that I was,' he
said humbly. 'But I would rather seem as ugly as I am, than seem
beautiful when I am ugly.'

'Calladon,' said the tall man again, 'your work is done, and you
deserve some reward. You may choose what it shall be; but I will tell
you beforehand that, if you choose to be made beautiful again as you
were before, it shall be done.'

'I would rather be made happy.' replied Calladon, 'and it would make
me happy if I could see Callia once more.'

'So be it!' said the tall man, kindly. 'Come with me!'

He took Calladon by the hand, and instantly the light grew brighter;
the dark walls grew white; there was a sound of music in