Suddenly from the multitude of the dead came men and women, who looked with hatred upon the old man, and surrounded him on every side and menaced him with threatening fists.  “Beast!” shouted one.  “I saw the Cross in life, when I was young.  The unbelief your work taught denies me the sight of it in death.  I curse you!”

“One year in the schools you founded,” wailed another, “lost me my God.”

“Why do you stand at the foot of the hill of the Cross, you hypocrite?” cried another.  “You have, in the name of a false science, encouraged by your gifts, destroyed the Faith of thousands.  You shall not go by The Road of Pain and Hope, even though you might have to climb till Judgment.  You shall go with us.”

Screaming in terror, the old man was dragged away.  They could hear his voice in the distance, as the multitude drove him along The Road without Ending.

“Alas, I understand—­now,” sadly said Callovan.  He gazed at his friends with some of the pain of his coming solitude in his eyes.  “Good-bye.  Shall we meet again?”

Michael answered:  “We shall meet again.  Your pain may be very great; but there is an end.  He who sets his foot on this Road has a promise which makes even pain a blessing.”

Callovan was left behind, for Orville and Michael climbed faster than he.

“Michael,” said his master, “I am greatly favored.  He was much better in life than I, yet now he climbs alone.”

“You are not favored, sir,” answered Michael.  “Many pray for you, because you loved the poor and sheltered and aided them.  He has all that is his, all that belongs to him.  You have all that is yours.  Do not forget that we are marching toward the Sun of Justice.”

And so they went on, over The Road of Pain and Hope.  Orville’s feet were weary and bleeding.  His hands and knees were bruised by falls.  The adders stung him and the thorns pierced him.  Cold rain chilled him and warm blasts oppressed him.  He was one great pain; but within a voice that was his own kept saying:  “I go to the Cross, I go to the Cross,” and he forgot the suffering.  He thought of earth for an instant; but the thought brought him no longing to return.  His breast was swelling and seemed bursting with a wonderful great Love that made him content with every tortured step.  He even seemed to love the pain; and he could not stop, nor could he rest for the Flaming Cross that was drawing him on.  He longed for it with a burning and intense desire.  His eyes were wet with the tears of devotion, and his whole being cried out:  “More pain, O Lord! more pain, if only I may sooner reach the Cross!”

But Michael tried to ease his master’s burden.

At last Orville said to him:  “How many ages have passed since I died?”

“You have been dead for ten minutes, sir,” answered Michael.  “The minutes are as ages in the Land of Death until you reach the Cross, and then the ages are as minutes.”