ice was
splashing like rain on the river of fire, and as each drop fell a
little puff of white steam arose from the place where it fell. So,
unable to wait till the wings had grown full, he rose to his feet, and
attempted to follow the Angel. But his wings were too weak to bear
him, and he fell clinging to the bridge, which shook beneath him.

Once more he prayed; once more his impatience urged him to rise; and
once more he fell. And the melted ice rained hissing into the river of
fire, and the quick whiffs of white vapour came up from the surface.

Then he committed himself to God's keeping, and waited in meekness and
fortitude, saying, "Whether we live or we die we are in Thy charge,"
and it seemed to him that, so long as it was God's will, it mattered
not at all what happened--whether the bridge crumbled away, dissolving
like a rainbow in the clouds, or whether his body were engulfed in the
torrent of burning.

Then straightway, as he submitted himself thus, his wings grew large
and strong, and he felt the power of them lifting him to his feet, and
with what seemed no more than the effort of a wish he sprang from
narrow way of ice and stood beside the Angel on the mountain.

"Hadst thou not been twice impatient in the cloister," said the Angel,
"thy wings would not have twice failed thee on the bridge. Now, look
around and see!"

Who shall tell the loveliness of the land on which Rheinfrid now gazed
from the mountain? To breathe the clear shining air was in itself
beatitude. He saw angelic figures and heard the singing of angels in
the heavenly gardens glittering far below, and he longed to fly down to
their blessed companionship. Suddenly over the tree-tops of a golden
glade he descried a starry globe which shone like chrysoprase, and
round and round it a little blue bird flew joyously. And so swiftly it
flew that hardly had it gone before it had returned again.

Rheinfrid turned to the Angel to question him, but the Angel, who was
aware of his thoughts, said, "Yes, it is the same globe, only we see it
now from the other side. Each circle that the bird makes is a hundred
years; for five hundred already have you been here, but you must now
return."

Then the Angel touched the monk's head, and Rheinfrid closed his eyes,
and in an instant it seemed to him as though he were awaking from a
long sleep. Cold and rigid were his limbs, and as he tried to sit up
each movement made them ache. He found that