saw that it was a red light like a stormy sunset, with masses of clouds in the sky, and a low sun very fiery and dazzling, which no doubt to a hasty glance must have looked, with its dark shadows and high lurid lights, like the fires of the bottomless pit.  But when you looked down you saw the reality what it was.  The country that lay beneath was full of tropical foliage, but with many stretches of sand and dry plains, and in the foreground was a town, that looked very prosperous and crowded, though the figures were very minute, the subject being so great; but no one to see it would have taken it for anything but a busy and wealthy place, in a thunderous atmosphere, with a storm coming on.  In the next there was a section of a street with a great banqueting hall open to the view, and many people sitting about the table.  You could see that there was a great deal of laughter and conversation going on, some very noisy groups, but others that sat more quietly in corners and conversed, and some who sang, and every kind of entertainment.  The little Pilgrim was very much astonished to see this, and turned to the painter, who answered her directly, though she had not spoken.  “We used to think differently once.  There are some who are there and do not know it.  They think only it is the old life over again, but always worse, and they are led on in the ways of evil; but they do not feel the punishment until they begin to find out where they are and to struggle, and wish for other things.”

The little Pilgrim felt her heart beat very wildly while she looked at this, and she thought upon the rich man in the parable, who, though he was himself in torment, prayed that his brother might be saved, and she said to herself, “Our dear Lord would never leave him there who could think of his brother when he was himself in such a strait.”  And when she looked at the painter he smiled upon her, and nodded his head.  Then he led her to the other corner of the room where there were other pictures.  One of them was of a party seated round a table and an angel looking on.  The angel had the aspect of a traveller, as if he were passing quickly by and had but paused a moment to look, and one of the men glancing up suddenly saw him.  The picture was dim, but the startled look upon this man’s face, and the sorrow on the angel’s, appeared out of the misty background with such truth that the tears came into the little Pilgrim’s eyes, and she said in her heart, “Oh that I could go to him and help him!” The other sketches were dimmer and dimmer.  You seemed to see out of the darkness, gleaming lights, and companies of revellers, out of which here and there was one trying to escape.  And then the wide plains in the night, and the white vision of the angel in the distance, and here and there by different paths a fugitive striving to follow.  “Oh, sir,” said the little Pilgrim, “how did you learn to do it?  You have never been there.”

“It was the master, not I; and I cannot tell you if he has ever been there.  When the Father has given you that gift, you can go to many places, without leaving the one where you are.  And then he has heard what the angels say.”