Then the little Pilgrim lifted her face and beheld that radiance which is over all, which is the love that lights the world, both angels and the great spheres above and the little brethren who stumble and struggle and weep; and in that light there was no darkness at all, but everything shone as in the morning, sweet yet terrible, but ever clear and fair.  And immediately, ere she was aware, the rough roads of the earth were left far behind, and she had returned to her place, and to her peaceful state, and to the work which had been given her,—­to receive the wanderers and to bid them a happy welcome as the doors opened and they entered into their inheritance.  And thus her soul was satisfied, though she knew now nothing more than she had known always,—­that the eye of the Father is over all, and that He can neither forget nor forsake.

II.

On the dark mountains.

When the little Pilgrim had been thus permitted to see the secret workings of God in earthly places, and among the brethren who are still in the land of hope,—­these being things which the angels desire to look into, and which are the subject of story and of song not only in the little world below, but in the great realms above,—­her heart for a long time reposed and was satisfied, and asked no further question.  For she had seen what the dealings of the Father were in the hearts of men, and how till the end came He did not cease to send His messengers to plead in every heart, and to hold a court of justice that no man might be deceived, but each know whither his steps were tending, and what was the way of wisdom.  After this it was permitted to her to read in the archives of the heavenly country the story of one, who, neglecting all that the advocates of God could say, had found himself, when the little life was completed, not upon the threshold of a better country, but in the midst of the Land of Darkness,—­that region in which the souls of men are left by God to their own devices, and the Father stands aloof, and hides His face and calls them not, neither persuades them more.  Over this story the little Pilgrim had shed many tears; for she knew well, being enlightened in her great simplicity by the heavenly wisdom, that it was pain and grief to the Father to turn away His face; and that no one who has but the little heart of a man can imagine to himself what that sorrow is in the being of the great God.  And a great awe came over her mind at the thought, which seemed well-nigh a blasphemy, that He could grieve; yet in her heart, being His child, she knew that it was true.  And her own little spirit throbbed through and through with longing and with desire to help those who were thus utterly lost.  ‘And oh!’ she said, ’if I could but go!  There is nothing which could make a child afraid, save to see them suffer.  What are darkness and terror when the Father is with you?  I am not afraid—­if I might but go!’ And by reason of her often pleading, and of the thought that was ever in her mind, it was at last said that one of those who knew might instruct her, and show her by what way alone the travellers who come from that miserable land could approach and be admitted on high.