Land of Death until you reach the Cross,
and then the ages are as minutes."

IV.

They kept toiling on, but had known no darkness along The Road of Pain
and Hope. Orville's hand sought Michael's, and it opened to draw him
closer. "Michael, my brother," he said, "may you tell me why there is
no night?"

Michael smiled again when Orville called him "brother" and answered:
"Because, my master, on The Road of Pain and Hope there is no despair;
but it is always night along The Road without Ending."

"Can you tell me, Michael, my brother," said Orville, "Why my eyes
suffer more keenly than all the rest?"

"Because," said Michael, "your eyes, master, have offended most in
life, and so are now the weakest."

"But my hands have offended, too," said Orville, "and behold, they are
already painless and cured of the bruises."

"Your hands are beautiful and white, master," said Michael, "and were
little punished, because they were often outstretched in charity and
in good deeds."

They had come to the brink of a Chasm which it seemed impossible to
cross, but they hoped, for they knew no despair. Multitudes of people
were before them on the brink of the Chasm looking longingly at the
other side. A few pilgrims were being lifted, by unseen hands, and
carried across the Chasm. Some Power there was to bear them which
neither Orville nor Michael understood. Many, however, had waited
long, while some were taken quickly. Every hand was outstretched
toward the Cross, and it could easily be seen that waiting was a
torture worse than the bruises.

"Alas, Michael," said Orville, "it is harder to suffer the wait than
the pain."

"Yes, master," Michael replied, "but this is The Chasm of Neglected
Duties. We must stay until those we have fulfilled may come to bear us
across. The one who goes first will await the other on the opposite
side."

"Alas, Michael," said Orville, "you must wait for me. I have few good
deeds and few duties well done."

Even as he spoke, Michael's face began to shine and his eyes were
melting. Orville looked and saw a little child with great wings, and
beautiful beyond all dreaming. Her gaze was fixed on Michael with the
deepest love and longing. Her voice was like the music of a harp, and
she spoke but one little word:

"Daddy!"

"Bride! My little Bride," whispered Michael.

Orville knew her, Michael's first-born child, who had died in infancy.
He remembered her funeral. In pity for poor Michael, a