puzzled by it. But I trust
you, I agree to wait, though I am far from satisfied."

Our second expedition was appointed for the following Saturday. Keene
was hungry for it, and I was almost as eager, desiring to penetrate as
quickly as possible into the heart of the affair. Already a conviction
in regard to it was pressing upon me, and I resolved to let him talk,
this time, as freely as he would, without interruption or denial.

When we clambered up on Spy Rock, he was more subdued and reserved than
he had been the first time. For a while he talked little, but scanned
view with wide, shining eyes. Then he began to tell me stories of the
places that we could see--strange stories of domestic calamity, and
social conflict, and eccentric passion, and hidden crime.

"Do you remember Hawthorne's story of 'The Minister's Black Veil?' It
is the best comment on human life that ever was written. Everyone has
something to hide. The surface of life is a mask. The substance of
life is a secret. All humanity wears the black veil. But it is not
impenetrable. No, it is transparent, if you find the right point of
view. Here, on Spy Rock, I have found it. I have learned how to look
through the veil. I can see, not by the light-rays only, but by the
rays which are colourless, imperceptible, irresistible the rays of the
unknown quantity, which penetrate everywhere. I can see how men down in
the great city are weaving their nets of selfishness and falsehood, and
calling them industrial enterprises or political combinations. I can see
how the wheels of society are moved by the hidden springs of avarice
and greed and rivalry. I can see how children drink in the fables of
religion, without understanding them, and how prudent men repeat them
without believing them. I can see how the illusions of love appear and
vanish, and how men and women swear that their dreams are eternal, even
while they fade. I can see how poor people blind themselves and deceive
each other, calling selfishness devotion, and bondage contentment. Down
at Hilltop yonder I can see how Dorothy Ward and John Graham, without
knowing it, without meaning it--"

"Stop, man!" I cried. "Stop, before you say what can never be unsaid.
You know it is not true. These are nightmare visions that ride you. Not
from Spy Rock nor from anywhere else can you see anything at Hilltop
that is not honest and pure and loyal. Come down, now, and let us go
home. You will see better there than here.