return where she had been. She went up to them
very closely, for she was curious to see the place
through which she had come in her sleep,—as
a traveller goes back to see the city gate, with its
bridge and portcullis, through which he has passed
by night. The gate was very great, of a wonderful,
curious architecture, having strange, delicate arches
and canopies above. Some parts of them seemed
cut very clean and clear; but the outlines were all
softened with a sort of mist and shadow, so that it
looked greater and higher than it was. The lower
part was not one great doorway, as the Pilgrim had
supposed, but had innumerable doors, all separate
and very narrow, so that but one could pass at a time,
though the arch inclosed all, and seemed filled with
great folding gates, in which the smaller doors were
set, so that if need arose a vast opening might be
made for many to enter. Of the little doors many
were shut as the Pilgrim approached; but from moment
to moment one after another would be pushed softly
open from without, and some one would come in.
The little Pilgrim looked at it all with great interest,
wondering which of the doors she herself had come
by; but while she stood absorbed by this, a door was
suddenly pushed open close by her, and some one flung
forward into the blessed country, falling upon the
ground, and stretched out wild arms as though to clutch
the very soil. This sight gave the Pilgrim a
great surprise; for it was the first time she had heard
any sound of pain, or seen any sight of trouble, since
she entered here. In that moment she knew what
it was that the dear Lord had given her to do.
She had no need to pause to think, for her heart told
her; and she did not hesitate, as she might have done
in the other life, not knowing what to say. She
went forward and gathered this poor creature into her
arms, as if it had been a child, and drew her quite
within the land of peace; for she had fallen across
the threshold, so as to hinder any one entering who
might be coming after her. It was a woman, and
she had flung herself upon her face, so that it was
difficult for the little Pilgrim to see what manner
of person it was; for though she felt herself strong
enough to take up this new-comer in her arms and carry
her away, yet she forbore, seeing the will of the
stranger was not so. For some time this woman
lay moaning, with now and then a great sob shaking
her as she lay. The little Pilgrim had taken
her by both her arms, and drawn her head to rest upon
her own lap, and was still holding the hands, which
the poor creature had thrown out as if to clutch the
ground. Thus she lay for a little while, as the
little Pilgrim remembered she herself had lain, not
wishing to move, wondering what had happened to her;
then she clutched the hands which grasped her, and
said, muttering,—
“You are some one new. Have you come to save me? Oh, save me! Oh, save me! Don’t let me die!”
This was very strange to the little Pilgrim, and went to her heart. She soothed the stranger, holding her hands warm and light, and stooping over her.