But the joy that is one with sorrow
Treads an immortal way.
Fiona Macleod.
Eric remained for a long while, his face turned to the sky, his eyes fixed upon the spot where the bright vision had melted into the infinite.
Indeed it had been a consoling sight to see the lowly little waif changed into a shining light, her tattered rags turned into a robe as immaculate as those of the ethereal beings who had borne her away into the sky.
God had been merciful; it was better thus; all her fatigue and weariness were at an end, all the scars and wounds had been wiped from her starving body, and when she had looked down upon him it had been with a light of ineffable happiness within her eyes.
But now Eric felt how completely exhausted he was; so throwing himself upon the naked rock, he lay face downwards like one who is dead.
It was many hours before he had strength to raise his head; and when he did so, the glare of noon beat down upon him with life-giving force.
He rose to his feet looking about him, then stood in rapture before what he saw.
The peak upon which he had climbed was far above everything else, overlooking the entire universe; a frowning solitary mass. On three sides of him were mountains and steep, precipitous passes, dark and forbidding, a whole world of mystery and desolation, where human foot would not dare to penetrate; sombre secrets seemed hidden in every crevice.