with all my soul to go down into it, and see what eager life it was that was being lived there.  And the boy, I saw, felt this too, and was impatient to proceed.  So we said farewell with much tenderness, and the boy went down swiftly across the moorland, till he met some one who was coming out of the city, and conferred a little with him; and then he turned and waved his hand to me, and I waved my hand from the brow of the hill, envying him in my heart, and went back in sorrow into the sunshine of the wood.

And as I did so I had a great joy, because I saw Amroth come suddenly running to me out of the wood, who put his arm through mine, and walked with me.  Then I told him of all I had seen and thought, while he smiled and nodded and told me it was much as I imagined.  “Yes,” he said, “it is even so.  The souls you have seen in this fine country here are just as children who are given their fill of pleasant things.  Many of them have come into the state in which you see them from no fault of their own, because their souls are young and ignorant.  They have shrunk from all pain and effort and tedium, like a child that does not like his lessons.  There is no thought of punishment, of course.  No one learns anything of punishment except a cowardly fear.  We never advance until we have the will to advance, and there is nothing in mere suffering, unless we learn to bear it gently for the sake of love.  On earth it is not God but man who is cruel.  There is indeed a place of sorrow, which you will see when you can bear the sight, where the self-righteous and the harsh go for a time, and all those who have made others suffer because they believed in their own justice and insight.  You will find there all tyrants and conquerors, and many rich men, who used their wealth heedlessly; and even so you will be surprised when you see it.  But those spirits are the hardest of all to help, because they have loved nothing but their own virtue or their own ambition; yet you will see how they too are drawn thence; and now that you have had a sight of the better country, tell me how you liked it.”

“Why,” I said, “it is plain and austere enough; but I felt a great quickening of spirit, and a desire to join in the labours of the place.”

Amroth smiled, and said, “You will have little share in that.  You will find your task, no doubt, when you are strong enough; and now you must go back and make unwilling holiday with your pleasant friends, you have not much longer to stay there; and surely”—­he laughed as he spoke—­“you can endure a little more of those pretty concerts and charming talk of art and its values and pulsations!”

“I can endure it,” I said, laughing, “for it does me good to see you and to hear you; but tell me, Amroth, what have you been about all this time?  Have you had a thought of me?”

“Yes, indeed,” said Amroth, laughing.  “I don’t forget you, and I love your company; but I am a busy man myself, and have something pleasanter to do than to attend these elegant receptions of yours—­at which, indeed, I have sometimes thought you out of place.”