mid-day's toil when Elijah paused to rest his strained back,
or to wipe the perspiration from his streaming face, in the silence of
the night, when the moon lay white and still upon the slumbering
landscape, his eyes sought out the solemn mountains which were shaping
his dreams. He listened to the roar of the torrents that came faint with
distance, when the mountains wrung dry the clouds that shrouded their
peaks, or when the fierce sun swept away their winter's mantle of white.
He watched the surging flood that rolled breast-high in receding waves
through the Sangre de Cristo, tossing boulders like feathers in their
boisterous strength; watched it rush through torrid plains and finally
sink from sight beneath the sands. He watched the parched lips held to
the Tantalean cup, saw the few drops of stolen moisture quicken into
verdant life, saw, when the flood had passed by and the mountains had
ceased to give forth their murmurs, the mocking sun crackle the
up-sprung life to choking dust, and once more the shimmering heat-waves
rise in trembling agony from the tortured sands. Then the voice that was
calling him grew more distinct, the guiding hand more clearly outlined.
As the blood of Christ quickened into life the soul dead in sin, so
should the stream that bore His name quicken into blooming fields the
dead, dry sands of the desert. His lips moved reverently with his
unuttered words, a prayer for guidance, a chant of faith, as his eyes
swept from crest to crest of the blood-red hills that held the river of
the blood of Christ against the mountains of its birth.

In spite of his words to the contrary, Elijah was disturbed by Winston's
attitude. What was the flaw in his scheme that held Winston aloof?
Elijah was in an agony of doubt. Up and down the flower-scented paths,
through groves of orange, yellow with golden fruit, he paced with
restless steps. With all his soul he strained to catch an opening in the
clouds that held the future from his eyes. Little by little the sense of
depression yielded to his efforts, little by little the vision that had
kept him constant, returned to him in the full glory of perfection. He
had been watching the hills as they glowed in the light of the setting
sun. As the gray night, settling over all, blotted out the details of
the landscape, leaving the mountains a purple blur against the faint
blue of the sky, Elijah felt a strong reaction. He feared, yet longed
for the coming light; feare