They rose up into the sky, every peak and jagged rock all touched with the light and the smile of God, and every little blossom on the turf rejoicing in the warmth and freedom and peace.  The heart of the little Pilgrim swelled, and she cried out, ’There is nothing so glorious as the everlasting hills.  Though the valleys and the plains are sweet, they are not like them.  They say to us, lift up your heart!’

Her guide smiled, but he did not speak.  His smile was full of joy, but grave, like that of a man whose thoughts are bent on other things; and he pointed where the road wound downwards by the feet of these triumphant hills.  She kept her eyes upon them as she moved along.  Those heights rose into the very sky, but bore upon them neither snow nor storm.  Here and there a whiteness like a film of air rounded out over a peak; and she recognized that it was one of those angels who travel far and wide with God’s commissions, going to the other worlds that are in the firmament as in a sea.  The softness of these films of white was like the summer clouds that she used to watch in the blue of the summer sky in the little world which none of its children can cease to love; and she wondered now whether it might not sometimes have been the same dear angels whose flight she had watched unknowing, higher than thought could soar or knowledge penetrate.  Watching those floating heavenly messengers, and the heights of the great miraculous mountains rising up into the sky, the little Pilgrim ceased to think whither she was going, although she knew from the feeling of the ground under her feet that she was descending, still softly, but more quickly than at first, until she was brought to herself by the sensation of a great wind coming in her face, cold as from a sudden vacancy.  She turned her head quickly from gazing above to what was before her, and started with a cry of wonder.  For below lay a great gulf of darkness, out of which rose at first some shadowy peaks and shoulders of rock, all falling away into a gloom which eyes accustomed to the sunshine could not penetrate.  Where she stood was the edge of the light,—­before her feet lay a line of shadow slowly darkening out of daylight into twilight, and beyond into that measureless blackness of night; and the wind in her face was like that which comes from a great depth below of either sea or land,—­the sweep of the current which moves a vast atmosphere in which there is nothing to break its force.  The little Pilgrim was so startled by these unexpected sensations that she caught the arm of her guide in her sudden alarm, and clung to him, lest she should fall into the terrible darkness and the deep abyss below.

‘There is nothing to fear,’ he said; ’there is a way.  To us who are above there is no danger at all; and it is the way of life to those who are below.’

‘I see nothing,’ she cried, ’save a few points of rock, and the precipice,—­the pit which is below.  Oh, tell me what is it?  Is it where the fires are, and despair dwells?  I did not think that was true.  Let me go and hide myself and not see it, for I never thought that was true.’