ries. My mother used to
say something of the kind. She would say that when our bodies sleep our
souls awake, and that whatever withers here ripens yonder, and that
harvests are snatched from us that they may feed invisible people. But
the meaning of the book may be different, for only fools and women have
thoughts like that; their thoughts were never written upon the walls of
Babylon. I must ring the bell for my pupils. [_He sees the_ ANGEL.]
What are you? Who are you? I think I saw some that were like you in my
dreams when I was a child--that bright thing, that dress that is the
colour of embers! But I have done with dreams, I have done with dreams.

ANGEL. I am the Angel of the Most High God.

WISE M. Why have you come to me?

ANGEL. I have brought you a message.

WISE M. What message have you got for me?

ANGEL. You will die within the hour. You will die when the last grains
have fallen in this glass. [_She turns the hour-glass._]

WISE M. My time to die has not come. I have my pupils. I have a young
wife and children that I cannot leave. Why must I die?

ANGEL. You must die because no souls have passed over the threshold of
Heaven since you came into this country. The threshold is grassy, and
the gates are rusty, and the angels that keep watch there are lonely.

WISE M. Where will death bring me to?

ANGEL. The doors of Heaven will not open to you, for you have denied
the existence of Heaven; and the doors of Purgatory will not open to
you, for you have denied the existence of Purgatory.

WISE M. But I have also denied the existence of Hell!

ANGEL. Hell is the place of those who deny.

WISE M. [_kneels_]. I have, indeed, denied everything, and have taught
others to deny. I have believed in nothing but what my senses told me.
But, oh! beautiful Angel, forgive me, forgive me!

ANGEL. You should have asked forgiveness long ago.

WISE M. Had I seen your face as I see it now, oh! beautiful angel, I
would have believed, I would have asked forgiveness. Maybe you do not
know how easy it is to doubt. Storm, death, the grass rotting, many
sicknesses, those are the messengers that came to me. Oh! why are you
silent? You carry the pardon of the Most High; give it to me! I would
kiss your hands if I were not afraid--no, no, the hem of your dress!

ANGEL. You let go undying hands too long ago to take hold of them now.

WISE M. You cannot understand. You live in that country people only see
in their dreams. Mayb