ickly than at first, until she was brought to
herself by the sensation of a great wind coming in her face, cold as from
a sudden vacancy. She turned her head quickly from gazing above to what
was before her, and started with a cry of wonder. For below lay a great
gulf of darkness, out of which rose at first some shadowy peaks and
shoulders of rock, all falling away into a gloom which eyes accustomed to
the sunshine could not penetrate. Where she stood was the edge of the
light,--before her feet lay a line of shadow slowly darkening out of
daylight into twilight, and beyond into that measureless blackness of
night; and the wind in her face was like that which comes from a great
depth below of either sea or land,--the sweep of the current which moves
a vast atmosphere in which there is nothing to break its force. The
little Pilgrim was so startled by these unexpected sensations that she
caught the arm of her guide in her sudden alarm, and clung to him, lest
she should fall into the terrible darkness and the deep abyss below.

'There is nothing to fear,' he said; 'there is a way. To us who are
above there is no danger at all; and it is the way of life to those who
are below.'

'I see nothing,' she cried, 'save a few points of rock, and the
precipice,--the pit which is below. Oh, tell me what is it? Is it where
the fires are, and despair dwells? I did not think that was true. Let me
go and hide myself and not see it, for I never thought that was true.'

'Look again,' said the guide.

The little Pilgrim shrank into a crevice of the rock, and uncovering her
eyes, gazed into the darkness; and because her nature was soft and timid
there came into her mind a momentary fear. Her heart flew to the Father's
footstool, and cried out to Him, not any question or prayer, but only
'Father, Father!' and this made her stand erect, and strengthened her
eyes, so that the gloom even of hell could no more make her afraid. Her
guide stood beside with a steadfast countenance, which was grave, yet
full of a solemn light. And then all at once he lifted up his voice,
which was sonorous and sweet like the sound of an organ, and uttered a
shout so great and resounding that it seemed to come back in echoes from
every hollow and hill. What he said the little Pilgrim could not
understand; but when the echoes had died away and silence followed,
something came up through the gloom,--a sound that was far, far away, and
faint in the long distance; a voi