‘I am not worthy,’ said the little Pilgrim.  ’It is a great promotion; but oh, that we might be permitted to help, to put out a hand, or to clear the way!’

‘Nay, my little sister,’ said the watcher, ’but patience must have its perfect work; and for those who are coming help is secret.  They must not see it nor know it, for the land of darkness is beyond hope.  The Father will not force the will of any creature He has made, for He respects us in our nature, which is His image.  And when a man will not, and will not till the day is over, what can be done for him?  He is left to his will, and is permitted to do it as it seems good in his eyes.  A man’s will is great, for it is the gift of God.  But the Lord, who cannot rest while one is miserable, still goes secretly to them, for His heart yearns after them.  And by times they will see His face, or some thought of old will seize upon them.  And some will say, “To perish upon the dark mountains is better than to live here.”  And I have seen,’ said the watcher, ’that the Lord will go with them all the way—­but secretly, so that they cannot see Him.  And though it grieves His heart not to help, yet will He not,—­for they have become the creatures of their own will, and by that must they attain.’  She put out her hand to the new-comer and drew her to the side of the rocky wall, so that they felt the sweep of the wind in their faces; but were not driven before it.  ‘And come,’ she said, ’for two of us together will be like a great light to those who are in the darkness.  They will see us like a lamp, and it will cheer them, though they know not why we are here.  Listen!’ she cried.  And the little Pilgrim, holding fast the hand of the watcher, listened and looked down upon the awful way; and underneath the sweep of the icy wind was a small sharp sound as of a stone rolling or a needle of rock that broke and fell, like the sounds that are in a wood when some creature moves, though too far off for footstep to sound.  ‘Listen!’ said the watcher; and her face so shone with joy that the little Pilgrim saw it clearly, like the shining of the morning in the midst of the darkness.  ‘He comes!’

‘Oh, sister!’ she cried, ’is it he whom you love above all the rest?  Is it he?’

The watcher smiled and said, ’If it is not he, yet is it a brother; if it is not he now, yet his time will come.  And in every one who passes, I hope to see his face; and the more that come, the more certain it is that he will come.  And the time seems not long for the love I bear him.  And it is for this that the Lord has so considered me.  Listen! for some one comes.’