up between thy snowy mountains," and she
leaned eagerly forward.

"Maybe the Golden Gates of the New Jerusalem that lieth four square are
opening, if thou hast eyes to see."

"Yea--I see! The clouds are turning into a throng of
children--countless children. With snowy robes are they wrapped.
Their arms are wings of feathery softness, and white and shining hair
doth blow across their faces! Aye--how beautiful, and a golden glow
shines over them. Stay! Children, stay!" and Mary pressed her hands
together and leaned out across the parapet.

"They are passing," he said, watching Mary.

"Yea, they are passing into the forest of snow and the sea of gold.
But oh, my Master, when hath eye seen a more beautiful sight?"

"Listen!" and he took her hand in his. "There is music for the passing
footsteps of thy white and shining children."

Together they listened when, over hills and valleys there came,
breathing on the silent air, the thousand throated choir of the Levites
chanting in the Temple. As the music came to them, sometimes far and
faint and sometimes like a fresh wave on a rising tide, it seemed to
bear them away from the world and themselves, save as they were held
together by the touch of hands. As the gray of twilight veiled the
lowlands, the red fires of booth-dwellers shone out like vivid jewels
scattered in irregular pattern, and when darkness had fallen the music
ceased.

"My mystery," Mary said softly to herself.

"What is thy mystery?" he asked.

"The way of music with my soul. It casteth a spell over me so that
sometimes I am moved to laughter, sometimes to tears, sometimes to
great longing, sometimes to a love too great for me. My mystery!"

"Thy mystery will be no more a mystery when thou knowest that thy soul
is but Waves of Being."

"I understand not what 'Being' means."

"Nor canst thou. But the way of waves thou knowest. Whether they run
mountain high or as the smallest pebble stirreth them, yet is there
ever motion, and the one touching the other doth bear the motion to the
farthest bounds. So do thy Waves of Being in eternal motion make thy
soul's substance."

"Thy words savor of much wisdom, but the meaning thereof escapeth me.
Waves of water my eye can see. But Waves of Being--alas! What are
they?"

"Hast thou stood by the mountain path when the grass is burned to
stubble and the stones by the wayside are as ovens? Hast thou seen
coming from the burning earth such wav