"Children! children!" cried the priest. "Children! Sun's down! Time to go to your trundles, my babes!"
"Yes, yes," I shouted. "Wait till I hear the rest of this story."
At my words she had started up with a little gasp of fright. A look of awe came into her gray eyes, which I have seen on the faces of those who find themselves for the first time beside the abyss of a precipice. And I have climbed many lofty peaks, but never one without passing these places with the fearful possibilities of destruction. Always the novice has looked with the same unspeakable fear into the yawning depths, with the same unspeakable yearning towards the jewel-crowned heights beyond. This, or something of this, was in the startled attitude of the trembling figure, whose eyes met mine without flinching or favor.
"Or pretend that a traveler had lost his compass, and though he was without merit, God gave him a star."
"Is it a pretty story, Rufus?" called the priest.
"Very," I cried out impatiently. "Don't interrupt."
"Or pretend that a poor fool with no merit but his love of purity and truth and honor lost his way to paradise, and God gave him an angel for a guide."
"Is it a long story, Rufus?" called the priest.
"It's to be continued," I shouted, leaping to my feet and approaching her.
"And pretend that the pilgrim and the traveler and the fool, asked no other privilege but to give each his heart's love, his life's devotion to her who had come between him and the darkness——"