XXIV

“And now,” said Amroth, “that we have been refreshed by the sight of this guileless place, and as our time is running short, I am going to show you something very serious indeed.  In fact, before I show it you I must remind you carefully of one thing which I shall beg you to keep in mind.  There is nothing either cruel or hopeless here; all is implacably just and entirely merciful.  Whatever a soul needs, that it receives; and it receives nothing that is vindictive or harsh.  The ideas of punishment on earth are hopelessly confused; we do not know whether we are revenging ourselves for wrongs done to us, or safeguarding society, or deterring would-be offenders, or trying to amend and uplift the criminal.  We end, as a rule, by making every one concerned, whether punisher or punished, worse.  We encourage each other in vindictiveness and hypocrisy, we cow and brutalise the transgressor.  We rescue no one, we amend nothing.  And yet we cannot read the clear signs of all this.  The milder our methods of punishment become, the less crime is there to punish.  But instead of being at once kind and severe, which is perfectly possible, we are both cruel and sentimental.  Now, there is no such thing as sentiment here, just as there is no cruelty.  There is emotion in full measure, and severity in full measure; no one is either pettishly frightened or mildly forgiven; and the joy that awaits us is all the more worth having, because it cannot be rashly enjoyed or reached by any short cuts; but do not forget, in what you now see, that the end is joy.”

He spoke so solemnly that I was conscious of overmastering curiosity, not unmixed with awe.  Again the way was abbreviated.  Amroth took me by the hand and bade me close my eyes.  The breeze beat upon my face for a moment.  When I opened my eyes, we were on a bare hillside, full of stones, in a kind of grey and chilly haze which filled the air.  Just ahead of us were some rough enclosures of stone, overlooked by a sort of tower.  They were like the big sheepfolds which I have seen on northern wolds, into which the sheep of a whole hillside can be driven for shelter.  We went round the wall, which was high and strong, and came to the entrance of the tower, the door of which stood open.  There seemed to be no one about, no sign of life; the only sound a curious wailing note, which came at intervals from one of the enclosures, like the crying of a prisoned beast.  We went up into the tower; the staircase ended in a bare room, with four apertures, one in each wall, each leading into a kind of balcony.  Amroth led the way into one of the balconies, and pointed downwards.  We were looking down into one of the enclosures which lay just at our feet, not very far below.  The place was perfectly bare, and roughly flagged with stones.  In the corner was a rough thatched shelter, in which was some straw.  But what at once riveted my attention was the figure of