ear in the lines of his sweet mouth and on the lips and cheeks, that
seemed to quiver. He had thrown his little arm about his mother's neck,
and, pressing close against her breast, looked up to her for safety, his
right hand and outstretched finger pointing downwards and behind him, as
though to indicate whence the danger came. Yet it was passing, already
half-forgotten, for the upturned eyes expressed confidence renewed,
peace of soul attained.

And the mother. She did not seem to mock or chide his fears, for
her lovely face was anxious and alert. Yet upon it breathed a very
atmosphere of unchanging tenderness and power invincible; care for the
helpless, strength to shelter it from every harm. The great, calm eyes
told their story, the parted lips were whispering some tale of hope,
sure and immortal; the raised hand revealed whence that hope arose. All
love seemed to be concentrated in the brooding figure, so human, yet so
celestial; all heaven seemed to lie an open path before those quivering
wings. And see, the arching instep, the upward-springing foot, suggested
that thither those wings were bound, bearing their God-given burden far
from the horror of the earth, deep into the bosom of a changeless rest
above.

The statue was only that of an affrighted child in its mother's
arms; its interpretation made clear even to the dullest by the simple
symbolism of some genius--Humanity saved by the Divine.

While we gazed at its enchanting beauty, the priests and priestesses,
filing away to right and left, arranged themselves alternately, first a
man and then a woman, within the ring of the columns of fire that burned
around the loop-shaped shrine. So great was its circumference that the
whole hundred of them must stand wide apart one from another, and, to
our sight, resembled little lonely children clad in gleaming garments,
while their chant of worship reached us only like echoes thrown from
a far precipice. In short, the effect of this holy shrine and its
occupants was superb yet overwhelming, at least I know that it filled me
with a feeling akin to fear.

Oros waited till the last priest had reached his appointed place. Then
he turned and said, in his gentle, reverent tones--"Draw nigh, now, O
Wanderers well-beloved, and give greeting to the Mother," and he pointed
towards the statue.

"Where is she?" asked Leo, in a whisper, for here we scarcely dared to
speak aloud. "I see no one."

"The Hesea dwells yonder," he