Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.



                      THE RADIANT CITY,
                         AN ALLEGORY


                             BY
                     EVELYN R. GARRATT,

AUTHOR OF "The Cry," "The Old Square Pew," "Meg of the Heather," etc.



                        WITH PREFACE

                           BY THE

                    REV. PREBENDARY FOX.


            Third Edition (Second Impression).
                       Tenth Thousand.



           IPSWICH: SMITHS, PUBLISHERS, SUITALL.
      LONDON: SIMPKIN MARSHALL, AND ALL BOOKSELLERS.

                           1924.

                       (Copyright.)



THE RADIANT CITY.


First Edition, Nov. 3, 1911, First Thousand.

Second Edition, Aug. 1, 1913, Third Thousand.

Third Edition, 2/-, May 2, 1922, Fifth Thousand.

Fourth Edition, Edition de Luxe, 2/6, Jan. 21, 1923.

Third Edition (Second Impression), 2/-, Sept. 20, 1924, Tenth Thousand.

Fifth Edition, Illustrated, 3/-, Oct. 1, 1924.



                        SMITHS,
        PRINTERS, BOOKBINDERS, AND PUBLISHERS.
                  SUITALL, IPSWICH.



PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

Though the following pages, at the first glance, naturally recall
the famous allegory, which after two and a half centuries is still
a world-wide classic, the reader will at once perceive an originality
of treatment and an adaptation to modern conditions which give Miss
Garratt's book a character and usefulness of its own. The writer shows
an intelligent perception of the spiritual dangers in the present day,
and describes how they may be met by the same weapons as those which
gave the victory so often to Christian and Faithful. The characters
are drawn with skill, and the dangers which befall the travellers on
their way to the Radiant City, are those which probably the conscience
of every reader will recognize. An important and valuable feature is
the constant reference to the "Guide Book." It has just the teaching
to be put into the hands of young people entering life, and yet has
ample lessons for their elders.

H. E. Fox.



    "It shone with a radiance like that of a very precious
        stone, such as Jasper, bright and transparent."

                         —Rev. xxi. II. (Weymouth Version).



     "Fight the good fight with all thy might,
      Christ is thy strength, and Christ thy right,
      Lay hold on life, and it shall be
      Thy joy and crown eternally."

      "Run the straight race through God's good grace,
      Lift up thine eyes and seek His face,
      Life with its way before us lies,
      Christ is the path, and Christ the prize."


CONTENTS.

  CHAPTER I. THE BANQUET

  CHAPTER II. THE VOICE

  CHAPTER III. THE KING'S MARK

  CHAPTER IV. DONNING THE ARMOUR

  CHAPTER V. ENEMIES OF THE ROAD

  CHAPTER VI. THE BATTLE OF THE BOOK

  CHAPTER VII. THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT

  CHAPTER VIII. STRAYING FROM THE PATH

  CHAPTER IX. A FIERCE CONFLICT

  CHAPTER X. THE PASSING OF HEMAN

  CHAPTER XI. THE DARK FOREST

  CHAPTER XII. DANGEROUS HEIGHTS

  CHAPTER XIII. THE CROSS IN THE VALLEY

  CHAPTER XIV. THE LAND OF INDIFFERENCE

  CHAPTER XV. THE SINGERS

  CHAPTER XVI. THE BRINK OF THE RIVER

  CHAPTER XVII. "TILL HE COME"



THE RADIANT CITY.

CHAPTER I.

THE BANQUET

Darkness had settled down upon the town of Punon.* The streets, which
were crowded with men and women, were only lit by unsatisfactory lamps,
which made the darkness more visible, and cast gloomy shadows on every
side. The sound of revelry which issued from open doors was in strange
contrast with the sad gloomy faces of many of the passers-by.

Some looked hopeless and dreary, as if no gleam of sunshine had ever
penetrated their souls; others wore an expression of deep despair,
which did not change even when the passers-by looked at them with
amusement, flinging a derisive laugh after them as they twitted them
with their misery. For among the many were those who did not seem
conscious of the gloom, or were indifferent to it, and these went by
gaily chatting, intent on their business or pleasure.

  * Darkness.

A sound of music and revelry issued from the window of a large building
in one of the principal streets, and through the open door could be
seen a number of people seated around a table laden with luxuries of
all kinds, and gleaming with silver and glass.

At its head sat a young man whose expression of face did not exactly
harmonize with his gay surroundings, or with the words that fell
from his lips, for the words were full of mirth and jollity, and
caused hilarious laughter from the assembled guests, among whom he
was evidently a favourite. There was an amount of daring in his
conversation that made the elders occasionally shake their heads as
if only half approving of what they heard, but which caused cheers of
approbation from the younger members of the community.

"Amer is not improving," said one of the guests in a low voice to his
neighbour, "and now that he is on his way to make such a fortune no
doubt he will grow more arrogant than he is already."

"Nevertheless, he is a nice fellow, and a great favourite," answered
the one addressed, "and he has a generous hand so that he will share
his fortune with his friends. There is something taking about the lad."

"I don't understand him," said the first speaker, "his face belies
his words, from his conversation you would think him the happiest man
alive, but his eyes tell a different tale."

His friend sighed heavily.

"Is there truly a happy man in this dark place?" he asked sadly, "to my
mind all is vanity and vexation of spirit."

"Away with pessimism," cried the other, "look! our host demands silence
while he delivers himself of the speech which if I mistake not he has
been preparing for the occasion ever since he came of age. Hark! what
is he saying?"

But the lad's first words were drowned by the prolonged cheers and
clanging of the glasses of his guests, and he had to wait patiently for
a hearing. And when at last the speech was made it was disappointing to
some who had expected greater things from the speaker. He was evidently
not in good form, for he paused again and again with a far away look in
his eyes as if he heard some voice calling him, and had difficulty in
concentrating his attention. As he closed however with a joke amid the
cheers of his companions, there was suddenly a dead silence, as across
the street came the loud and piercing sound of a trumpet.

"It is the herald again," someone exclaimed.

"Aye, It is the herald! He won't leave us alone, what do we want with
him here?" grumbled another.

"He's enough to throw a gloom over the merriest feast," cried a third.

"Right you are. I could not sleep the other night for thinking of his
prophecies about Punon. All are doomed to death who stay here," said
the first speaker.

"We need not believe every fool who prates," cried Amer, "come and
let's hear the man again and get some fun by questioning him as to the
truth of his words."

"'Why, Amer, I began to think you half believed in him," laughed one of
his companions as a stir began and a hasty exit was made from the house.

The herald was standing in the market-place.

"Come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord,"
he cried.

Amer found his way to the front of the crowd in the masterful manner
that was natural to him, his satellites surrounding him on every side.

And then began a volley of mocking questions and raillery, led by
Amer and his companions, and aided by the lighter spirits among
those present. Some of the questions the herald answered quietly and
patiently, others he answered not at all, but stood and looked at the
young men with sorrow and deep compassion written across his face. At
last seeing that the people were demoralized by this band of intruders,
he turned quietly away, saying in a solemn voice that rang loud and
clear above the noise of the crowd—

"Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord."

Slowly the crowd broke up, and Amer's friends parted from him with
laughter and congratulations as to the success of his banquet, leaving
him at last to find his way home alone.

"Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord."

The words rang in the lad's head. The feast, his companions, the fun,
all forgotten: the words, together with the gentle sternness of the
face of the herald, alone filling his mind.

"Ah!" he cried, "It is the Voice again. I hoped it was stifled! I will
not listen."

But the words would not leave him alone.

Amer had heard them the day before, from the lips of the herald, who
had looked him straight in the face with his penetrating eyes, and they
had cast a strange kind of spell over him. He had hoped that his coming
of age feast would have dispelled the remembrance of them, but even in
the middle of the speech, with which he had taken such pains, the Voice
had been heard, causing him to stammer and forget what he had intended
to say.

The Voice was insistent, compelling.

Suddenly a sweet vision met his eyes.

At the gate of a house he was passing stood a young girl dressed in
white, who, at the sight of him, ran forward with outstretched hands.

"Amer," she cried, "have you had a happy day, has the feast gone off
well?"

For the moment, at the touch of her hands and the sight of her sweet
eyes, even the Voice was forgotten, and Amer eagerly told her of the
delight of his companions and of the nice words they had said to him,
but in answering her eager questions as to his speech, he paused in
slight confusion.

"No," he said, "I did not excel as I had hoped. It was lame and I was
hesitating."

"But why?" cried Gabrielle, "when you rehearsed it to me you never
paused for a word; how was it, Amer?"

"I will tell you some day," he answered, "perhaps to-morrow."

He had an instinctive feeling that Gabrielle would not understand him
or sympathize with his strange thoughts.

Gabrielle pouted, but his refusal was soon forgotten and they walked
towards the house hand in hand.

Her eyes shone as stars in the gloom and her smile was better than
sunshine to the lad who loved her with his whole soul. So happy was he
in her presence that the sad forebodings that had interfered even with
the joy of his feast were forgotten. They talked of the doings of the
day; of to-morrow, when he was to be made partner in a great business
transaction which promised an immense return; of the possibility of
soon being able to fix upon the day which was to crown their love and
to make them man and wife; and at last, with a joyful wave of the hand,
he parted from her, crying—

"To-morrow, Gabrielle, we will meet again, to-morrow."

But no sooner had he left her to make his way towards his own home than
his gay spirits departed, and the sound of the Voice seemed to thunder
in his ear—

"Come out from among them and be ye separate, saith the Lord."

Suddenly Amer turned round and making his way back towards the
market-place, he enquired where he could find the herald.



CHAPTER II.

THE VOICE.

"The boy is mad," cried Anthony Hershall, bringing down his fist with
an angry movement on to his knee, "the herald has turned his head."

"What is it?" asked his wife anxiously, as she looked up at her
husband, who had just come in from his ride and had sat down heavily
on the large chair by the fire.

"What is it?" he repeated fiercely, "why he refuses to have anything to
do with the business I have bought for him, and declares he must start
at once for the Radiant City. Radiant City, indeed! Why everyone knows
that the herald is no true prophet; there is no such place. Belief in
it has long ago vanished."

"It is only a passing fancy of the boy's," said his wife, "he said
something to me about it last night, but I made little of it, and told
him to get rid of the nonsense as soon as he could. He won't be driven,
Anthony; we can only persuade him. It has been so with him ever since
he was a child; the boy will not be talked out of it."

"Aye, he was always a stubborn lad and went his own way; but this is
passing all bounds, after the trouble I have taken to set him up in
life, and with the prospect of making a large fortune."

"Has he scruples about the business, then?"

"Scruples? He says he will have nothing to do with it; that he
would be getting rich at the expense of other men's souls, or some
such nonsense. Besides which he is starting out at once for the
Radiant City."

"He won't do that," said his wife, smiling, "he won't leave Gabrielle,
and certainly Gabrielle is not one to go on that mad journey with him.
She is too fond of Punon. Do not fear, Anthony. The boy is devoted
heart and soul to Gabrielle, and nothing would induce him to give her
up."

"Mark my word, she will go with him. A woman is easily persuaded by the
man she loves."

"Gabrielle is much too fond of her comforts and luxuries to give them
up even for Amer. She loves herself better than him; I have noticed
this in a hundred ways. No, she will never start on that long and
hazardous journey, and if the boy does he will have to go without her.
It will be hard for him, poor lad, if he keeps to his resolution,
but he won't."

Half comforted, her husband rose up, determined to seek his son once
more and to bring before him all the strongest arguments he could think
of to turn his mind before it was too late.

His wife let her work drop on to her knee after he had left the room,
and her eyes peered out into the twilight with a somewhat mournful
expression in them.

So Amer, poor boy, was going through all the agony of mind that had
once been hers. Once, long, long ago, she herself had heard the Voice.
The remembrance of strange longings, strange fears, began to haunt
her soul. She had believed in the Radiant City in those days, and had
more than once made up her mind to journey towards it, but something
had always come in the way to induce her to put off the decision; some
important engagement in the town which she felt she could not give up;
some friend who had influenced her to postpone thinking about it for at
least a month or two; some occupation which she could not forsake even
for the Radiant City; and finally her husband had come across her path,
and the thought of him, her love for him, had at first put the subject
out of her mind, and when after a while she mentioned to him that she
had thought of setting out for the Radiant City before her marriage, he
laughed at her, telling her that great and wise people had come to the
conclusion that there was no such place, and that those who set out for
it were only following a mirage and would be disappointed at last. Was
this true? Was there no Radiant City? Was the City of Punon the only
reality? Or was Amer right and her husband wrong?

"Mother," said a voice by her side, "has my father told you of my
decision?"

"Yes, dear lad," she answered, "but I am not going to think about
it, it cannot be. You could not give up all your bright prospects,
specially after the pains your father has taken to secure them for you."

"But I have heard the Voice, Mother, and I must obey."

"I heard the Voice once, Amer, and almost made up my mind to set out on
the journey myself. But had I done so I should have lost a great deal
that makes life delightful to me, and I should have had to start out
alone. So will you my boy. Gabrielle will not go with you. You will
have to leave her behind."

A spasm of pain crossed the boy's face.

"You do not know that, Mother," he said, "I have hopes of Gabrielle."

"I have none," answered his Mother quietly.

"She loves me," said Amer, "and I know I have influence with her.
I believe she will set out on the journey with me."

"I think not," said his Mother.

Amer answered nothing, for so much did he believe in his love for the
girl and in her love for him that he felt it would be easy work for him
to persuade her.

"Mother," he said, turning the subject, "do you never long for the
sunshine? Punon is dark. I have only noticed it since the herald came
and pointed it out to me. How few people there are with sunlight on
their faces. I do not know one. And are you not afraid to disobey the
Voice as it is the Voice of the Great King of the Radiant City?"

"I used to be afraid," answered his Mother, "and used to long
passionately for light and sunshine. But all those longings have fled.
I never think of them now. And besides, do you not know that a very
large number of our cleverest men have given out the fact that there
is no Radiant City and no Great King of the Radiant City? They seem to
say that it is only very simple souls that trouble about such things.
Amer," she said earnestly, "don't let your Mother have the grow of
having it said that her son is a simple, unlike other young men of his
age. I have always thought of you with such pride. There is not another
Mother that I know who has a son to be more proud of than I. You are
the most popular young man in this part of Punon, but once decide to
start on that long journey and your popularity will be gone. Men will
talk of you with a laugh and a shrug of the shoulder. You will be
treated as mad. Think of your Mother, my boy."

"Dear Mother," said the boy sadly, "you will break my heart, but even
you cannot make me forget the Voice. I am hearing it continually, and
I must obey; besides, I have had such an account given me of the King,
that I cannot rest till I am on my journey towards Him. He is the one
I have been looking for for years, and Who alone can satisfy the
longings of my heart. I am taking Him as my King to-day and I am
starting out on my journey to-day. Mother, won't you listen to the
Voice and come with me?"

"You dare to break my heart?" said his Mother sternly, "you reward your
father's labour for you in getting you this good post in this way?"

"My King must come first," answered the boy, sorrowfully but firmly.

"I think you will find that Gabrielle comes first," was his mother's
answer.

"I will go and seek Gabrielle," said Amer. He found her in the
honey-suckle arbour of her father's garden. She did not receive him
with the same sweet smile as usual: Amer felt instinctively that
already the thought of the Radiant City lay between them and estranged
them.

"Gabrielle," he said. She moved slightly away from him.

"I have heard strange things about you," she said coldly, "you refuse
to take up the post which your father has found for you. Your love for
me cannot be so great as you have led me to suppose. My father will not
allow me to have anything to do with a man who cannot support his wife."

"You have heard then that I am setting out for the Radiant City?" he
questioned.

"I have heard some such nonsense," she answered, turning away her face
from his steady gaze, "but you will have to chose between the Radiant
City and me, for I will not have a husband who is the laughing stock of
everyone, you are mad to give up this post."

"You will have a husband who is more worth having," he answered, "and
you will come with me."

The idea was so amusing to the girl that she turned round and laughed
at him.

"The journey would not suit me," she said, "neither would the company,"
and she threw a defiant look up at him; "think of me enduring the
hardships which they say await pilgrims to the Radiant City; I should
be frightened to death with it all. Besides," she added, with a spice
of coquetry in her eyes, "the company would be dull."

Amer looked down upon her with a mystified expression of face. "You do
not love me enough then to be willing to leave all besides?" he asked.

"Not if you go on this pilgrimage. Already I find you different to what
you were before you heard the herald. You used to say then that you
would follow me to the end of Punon, but now you wish me to follow you
out of it, you do not love me as you used to do."

In a minute Amer was on his knees beside her, telling her in passionate
language that his love was even stronger than it used to be, that it
was as strong as death.

"Then," said Gabrielle, "prove it and give up these ridiculous fancies
of yours. Why should you set yourself up as better than other people?
Think of the many who have gone in for this business; you do not
suppose that you are better than they?"

"No," said Amer, "but I have heard the Voice."

"Oh don't," she cried, "when you talk like that I am afraid of you."

"Have you never heard it?"

Gabrielle wrenched her hands from his and covered her pretty little
ears with them.

"No, no," she cried, "and I don't want to. If Punon is really doomed,
there is still plenty of time. I will not hear the Voice; I could not
endure the hardships."

"But the King, I am told, takes care of all those who start on the
journey, and at the end we shall see Him in His beauty."

"There is no King and no Radiant City," exclaimed the girl petulantly,
"no one believes in that story now; and you have not really heard a
Voice; it is only in your imagination."

"But I have heard the Voice," persisted Amer.

"Oh don't," cried Gabrielle, "I begin to hate you when you say these
things, we had better part, Amer. I could not have a husband who
frightens me by his mad talk, and who insists upon taking me this long
journey. I will not go, you must choose between the Radiant City of
your dreams and me."

"Must I then go alone?" Amer rose as he said these words, and stood
looking down upon her with such tenderness in his face that Gabrielle
repented of her hard words.

"No," she said, stretching out her hands towards him, "you must not go
alone, you must not go at all. I want you Amer, and cannot do without
you; you must stay with me. You say you love me; love me enough then to
forget the Radiant City and to stay and work for me; you will not, you
cannot leave me."

And standing there looking into her sweet eyes, which were now suffused
with love, Amer felt that he could not leave her.

"You shall be my Radiant City," he cried, "I will live and work for
you."



CHAPTER III.

THE KING'S MARK.

For some weeks Amer resolutely put away the thought of the Radiant
City, and would not listen to the Voice. In fact the Voice seemed, when
he heard it at all, to be very far away, and he began to wonder how it
was that its sound had ever stirred his soul.

His new work, the thought that every day he was piling up money for the
support of Gabrielle, together with the society of his old companions,
filled his thoughts and his days, and if ever the remembrance of the
step he had so nearly taken, intruded, he flung it aside.

But was it his fancy that his Mother's face now and then wore an
expression almost of disappointment when she looked at him? Was it
fancy that even Gabrielle did not treat him in exactly the same manner
as formerly? She looked up to him as above her in the old days, falling
in with his suggestions, and following, in a great measure, his advice.
But it seemed now as if there was sometimes a tinge of scorn in her
words, as if he had fallen from some pedestal upon which she had placed
him.

During the day he was able to banish these thoughts and suspicions from
his mind by the means of business or pleasure. But at night he would
lie awake pondering over it, and at times a great loathing of himself
took possession of him. He despised his want of decision. He had been
weak, and had turned his back upon the enduring of hardships.

Moreover the thought of the business he had undertaken lay at times
like a dead weight on his spirit.

Gradually there came a great depression over him, and he began to
wonder if his soul would ever be stirred to its depths again by the
sound of the Voice, and if ever again he would be given the chance of
journeying towards the Radiant City.

So great was his depression and his loathing of himself, that one day
he started off to try and find the herald, but he was told that he had
left Punon some weeks ago. Despondently Amer made his way home, but he
could not rest. He went about his work listlessly, and gradually his
old companions began to drop off from him. He was not as good company
as he used to be.

"Amer is not himself," said his father, "he is working too hard."
But Amer suddenly found out that what was making him so restless and
stirring his apparently dead soul again, was the Voice.

"Come out from among them," it cried, "and be ye separate." Was it his
imagination? Was it fancy?

He was so miserable and so conscious of the sinfulness of himself and
the unsatisfactoriness of his life, that after much agony of soul, he
determined, even if it might be nothing but a morbid imagination, to
start out for the Radiant City.

Even if there was such a place, he had no very strong hopes that he
would be allowed to enter it. The Great King, if there was a King,
might not care to have him after his resolute turning aside before.
But, notwithstanding his doubts, he decided to venture, and should
there be a King, to throw himself on His mercy.

This time, so miserable was he, and so full of fear that he might be
shut out of the Radiant City, that he thought it was worth bearing
scorn and laughter, if only he might start out on his journey. The one
thing he now shrank from was losing Gabrielle, for he could not deceive
himself for a moment about her. She was set against all mention of
the Radiant City, and he knew right well that when he started on his
journey he would have to give her up. He spent nights of anguish over
the thought of this, but his fears lest he was too late to be accepted
as a citizen of the Blessed City were growing so great, that even the
thought of Gabrielle could not make him swerve from his resolution.
Remembering however, his former conduct, and fearing lest his parents
might not take his decision seriously, he determined to start on his
journey without talking it over with them. But to Gabrielle he boldly
mentioned it. Her answer was a derisive laugh.

"I shall believe it when you have started," she said, "and when you
start we part for ever."

Saddened and almost despairing, Amer made his way towards the East
Gate, which he remembered he had been told was the gate through which
he would have to start.

But on nearing it he noticed that it was closed. Anxiously he looked
around him and saw a man coming towards him.

"Sir," said Amer, "can you tell me if this is the way to the Radiant
City, and how the gate is to be opened?"

"Why do you want to know, my lad?" asked the stranger.

"Because I am in great trouble of mind, and am bent on escaping from
this dark place. But I do not know how I can be sure that I shall be
allowed to make the journey, as I have so long put it off."

"What is your trouble," asked the stranger.

"I am my own trouble," he replied, "I have resolutely shut my ears to
the Voice, and have spent much of my short life in folly and sin; and
now my heart will not let me rest. My sins are such that I am unable to
look up. Sir, are you able to give me comfort?"

The stranger pointed to some words carved on the stone above the gate
which Amer had not noticed:—

"'Come unto Me all ye that are weary and heavy laden and I will give
you rest.'"

"That is the message of the Great King to you, my lad," he said.

"To me!" murmured Amer, astonished.

"Yes, to you. To all that need Him, to all who have sinned and want His
forgiveness, to all that hope in His mercy, to all who feel themselves
to be miserable sinners and to need a Saviour."

"I am that sinner," cried Amer, "'I have gone astray like a sheep that
is lost.' Let me through that I may start at once for the Radiant City,
so that I may fall at the feet of my King and thank Him for His mercy."

"You cannot go through that gate without the King's Mark," said the
stranger, "It is a Cross, a Cross of Blood, which you will wear always
on your forehead.* This is the key which alone will open the gate for
you, and it is your talisman for your journey."

"What does it mean?"

"It means that you belong to the Great King; that He has set His own
mark upon you; that He has washed away your sins with His own Blood;
that you are forgiven; that His angels will be about your path; that
you have but to cry out and the King Himself will hear you and deliver
you."

"And must everyone who starts on his journey wear this sign?"

"No one can even start on this journey without it. The gate will not
open unless this sign be worn."

"Sir, give me the key," cried Amer, "that I may at once begin my
journey."

"Nay," said the stranger, "man cannot give you the key, neither can
man open the gate. It must be done by the King Himself, I am but His
ambassador."

"Must I wait, then?" asked Amer, sadly.

  * Eph. 1, 7. S. John 14, 6.

"Nay, not a moment," said the stranger, "the King is even waiting to
let you through the gate and has been waiting for years. Aye, He is
rejoicing to-day in the Radiant City because He sees you coming to Him.
'There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner that
repenteth.'"

"But," asked Amer, perplexed, "I do not see the King and how am I to
open the gate?"

"The King sees you," answered the stranger, "and that is what
signifies. All you have to do is to obey the words above the gate,
'Come unto Me.' You will find as you enter the porch, the gate will fly
open and the King Himself will mark you for His own. You have simply to
take Him at His word."

Then with great joy Amer went forward, and as he passed through the
portal, the gate opened, the King's mark was placed upon his brow,
and he found himself on the other side in a blaze of light and glory.
So wonderful was the change from the dark city he had left behind,
and such a peace stole into his heart, that he could only fall on his
knees and worship and praise the invisible King, Who had taken away his
burden and his misery.

"I will thank Thee, O Lord my God," he cried, "with all my heart: and
will praise Thy name for evermore. For great is Thy mercy toward me:
and Thou hast delivered my soul from the nethermost hell."



CHAPTER IV.

DONNING THE ARMOUR.

It was as if in a dream that Amer rose up again and looked about him. A
very large expanse of country lay around him; hills and valleys, rivers
and lakes, trees under which to rest, and far, far away, almost too far
for eye to see, a haze of golden glory fascinated his eyes.

"The City!" he cried under his breath.

He turned and looked for a moment at the town of Punon that he had
left behind, and was appalled to see its gloom. He had never realized
its darkness to such an extent before. He could hear the faint sound
of revelry, and caught a distant sight of its flickering torch-lights,
but he shivered as he looked at it, and turned again with joy to face
the East, in which direction the Radiant City lay. He shouted for very
gladness of heart. He felt as if he had wings, and imagined that the
journey to the City could be nothing but joy. The way looked easy and
beautiful. No rough stones or rocky passes could he see, and every step
he took seemed to bring him higher, and the breezes blew fresher.

Suddenly he became conscious of the presence of the Ambassador.

"My lad," he said, "you will need a guide book to show you the way. It
must be your constant companion. There will be enemies on the road who
will make every effort to take it from you, but you must lose anything
rather than the Book. If you give up the Book you are lost, and will
never find your way to the City. It is your most precious possession."

Amer eagerly took the Book from the Ambassador's hand, and opened its
pages at once to read.

He was surprised at the words that met his eyes. They spoke of a great
enemy that he would meet, and of the necessity of wearing armour so as
to be able to wrestle against "'principalities, against powers, against
the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness
in high places.'" It spoke also of the "'fiery darts of the wicked.'"

Amer looked up into the Ambassador's face with a look of perplexity on
his own.

"I do not understand the Guide Book," he said, "It speaks of enemies,
and I see none."

"The first part of the way is often easy," answered the Ambassador.
"There was once a people who started on a journey to a land flowing
with milk and honey, and the Great King to whom they belonged led them
a long way round, in order that they might not meet the enemy too soon,
and so be discouraged and turn back. But you never know when the enemy
will be upon you, and you must be clad in the King's armour."

"Where is it to be had?"

"It is lying at your feet," answered the Ambassador.

No sooner did Amer see the armour than he began to don it.

"It must never on any account be laid aside," said the Ambassador, "the
great enemy is on the watch, and if ever you lay it aside he will take
advantage of you."

"What is the enemy like?" asked Amer earnestly, "and what is his name?"

"His name is the Devil," answered the Ambassador, "and his servants are
legion. It is not very likely that you will have to confront the Devil
himself, as you are too small and insignificant. But should you grow
into a very useful and powerful servant of the Great King, should you
in the future fight many of His enemies and give help on the road to
many of His servants, it is possible that the great enemy may attack
you in person, and then woe to you if your sword has grown rusty, or if
you are not wearing your armour."

"Will the road become more difficult and more dangerous as I near the
Radiant City?" asked Amer.

"I do not know. Everyone is not led in exactly the same path, even
though they are all going to the Radiant City, and so in the same
direction. Some, I think, have their worst fights at the beginning,
others in the middle of their course, some are fighting up to the very
end, even as they cross the river. But I think, probably, it is the
best soldiers and the most valiant who have to fight then. The great
enemy will not leave them alone, and makes every effort to prevent them
crossing into the Radiant City; the more valiant the soldier the harder
the fight."

"I mean to be a valiant soldier, and will never turn my back to the
foe," said Amer.

"My son," answered the Ambassador, "be on the watch! I already see an
enemy in the long grass close at your side, although you perceive him
not his name is Boastful. He does not look formidable, and is so small
that you may be inclined to despise him."

Amer smiled incredulously, but before he had turned round to look
behind him, he felt a knock on his shoulder which gave him pain, and in
a minute he was lying prone on the ground, while a small creature stood
a few yards in front of him grinning at him triumphantly.

Amer sprang up dismayed and ashamed of having been so easily overcome
by such an insignificant enemy, but when once on his feet he found he
was alone. He remembered then that he had been struck on the back, and
that there was no armour provided for the back. He pondered over this,
and the next time he met the Ambassador he asked him how this was.

"It is probably to show you that you must ever be ready to face the
foe. You must keep such a watch that you cannot be taken by surprise;
and you must never show fear and fly. If once you turn your back to the
enemy, either through carelessness or fear, woe to you."

"I begin to think the way is not as easy as I thought," said Amer,
sadly.

After this mishap, Amer began to walk more carefully, and kept a watch
over Boastful and other foes, who, because so small of stature, were
not easily detected.

One of these enemies was a most offensive little man of the name of
Irritability, who, if Amer set his foot on a slippery stone, or if the
heat of the sun was unusual, or the wind piercing as it swept across
the plain, would suddenly fly at the young soldier, and give him a blow
on the mouth.

And Amer found that this worrying sprite often prepared the way for a
much more formidable enemy, a relation of his called Temper; and that
Temper was the name of a family composed of three brothers, each one
more disagreeable and objectionable than the last.

The youngest of these brothers would walk doggedly and silently beside
his victim with a great gloom on his face, and every hour that he was
allowed to remain he grew more morose, and finally would cling on to
his coat, so acting as a drag. His name was Sulks, and he was the most
difficult of the three to get rid of, unless he was snubbed the moment
he arrived.

The second brother was a very dangerous fellow, for he was perpetually
handing daggers to his victim, urging him to do his work for him. His
name was Revenge.

But the eldest of the three worried Amer the most. When the lad had
lived in Punon he had had to do with him, and was surprised to meet
him so often on his journey to the Radiant City. While in Punon, Amer
had thought little of him, and had not looked on him exactly as an
enemy, in fact he had more than once found him useful there, for being
somewhat tall and imposing looking, and moreover of a fierce expression
of countenance, people had been afraid of Amer when they found him in
the company of this enemy, whose name was Passionate; consequently the
lad had more than once got his way with others simply on account of the
fear of his companion. But once having started on his journey to the
Radiant City, Amer felt he must entirely give up his company, and was
surprised and mortified that this enemy was not so easily disposed of
as he had imagined. It was true that his visits did not last so long as
formerly, but long enough to make Amer's fellow travellers who passed
by look askance at him, saying among themselves,

"Can he really be on his way to the Radiant City, as Temper walks by
his side?"

But except for these, Amer met few enemies at first, and wondered at
times what the Guide Book meant when it spoke of Principalities and
Powers against which he would have to wrestle.



CHAPTER V.

ENEMIES OF THE ROAD.

Amer soon found that the journey was not so smooth as he had thought.
There were stiff bits of hill to climb, and rough rocks and stones
which cut and hurt his feet. He was often desperately tired and the
Radiant City seemed a long way off. Also at certain times he felt to
miss his old companions.

He had not met many people on the road. He had seen many a merry party
walking fearlessly on a broad walk which at times seemed to be leading
to the Radiant City, picking flowers and singing gaily, and he had
looked somewhat longingly at them.

Several pilgrims indeed had passed him on the way in the narrow path,
but they were so intent on their own journey that they seemed to have
no time to give to him; and he sometimes felt lonely.

One day as he was giving way to rather sad thoughts he noticed three
small people sitting together by the roadside. They looked dreary and
were dressed all in grey. Forgetting the warnings of the Ambassador,
Amer sat down by their side and entered into a conversation. He soon
found that their company instead of comforting him depressed him
greatly.

"Where are you going to?" they asked him.

"To the Radiant City," was his answer.

"You will never get there," said one of them, "you have not the air of
a servant of the Great King. When we saw you, you were looking dreary
and forlorn."

"I feel lonely at times," he answered.

"But I thought your Book tells you that you are never alone. You cannot
be one of the Great King's soldiers if you feel lonely."

"How long have you been on your journey?" asked another.

"Two months," was his answer. "I started late I grieve to say."

"Only two months! then you have wasted some of the best years of your
life; you do not suppose the King will accept anyone who has despised
His message all those years, do you? How do you know that you are His
soldier and accepted by Him?"

"I see no sign of you being different from others whom I meet," said a
third, "you still have the look of the Dark City upon you. How do you
know that you belong to Him?"

"I met the Ambassador and he told me that the King loved me," said Amer.

"The Ambassador cannot tell. He does not really know all your sins.
Think of all those years in the Dark City, all the time you have
forgotten the King."

"Think of how you turned round after making resolves to begin your
journey," said one of them who had evidently heard his story.

"But it was for sinners that the King died," answered Amer.

"Yes, but not for sinners like you. Besides if you were one of His
servants you would look more cheerful and get on faster. Why you have
been two months on the way and have only got so far."

"How do you know that He has accepted you?" persisted another.

"Because He cannot break His word," said Amer, "and He has said, 'him
that cometh to Me, I will in no wise cast out;'" then turning round
suddenly upon them, he asked,

"What is your name?"

"We are a family of the name of Morbid," they answered, "and we
take upon ourselves the duty of warning people if we think they are
deceiving themselves."

"I must not tarry here talking to you," said Amer, beginning to wish
he had not taken any notice of the Morbids, "I must be continuing my
journey," at which he rose from his seat.

But the little grey clad men would not leave him, they ran by his side
and would take no hint from him as to his wish to be rid of their
company.

For a mile or two they trotted beside him, filling his mind with
all sorts of gloomy forebodings, and the more he hurried hoping to
out-distance them, the quicker they ran, till at last, somewhat out of
breath, they took hold of his coat and so helped themselves along. Amer
began to be suspicious of them.

"Are you on your way to Radiant City?" he asked.

"Why not," they answered evasively; then as the lad would not be
satisfied with their answer they added.

"Why be in such haste? You are not sure if the King will receive you at
the end; and then what will become of you? Besides which we doubt if
you will persevere, and in that case it would have been better never to
have set out." At this Amer pulled his coat away from them violently,
but it only had the effect of making them cling to his feet, so that
every step was an effort. Do what he would he could not get rid of
them, and the more he struggled the tighter they clung, till at last
they pulled him to the ground. There he lay exhausted and miserable,
and how long the little grey enemies would have had him in their
clutches I do not know, if the Ambassador had not happened to pass that
way and beheld his distress.

"Sir," cried Amer, "I am in great straits. The Morbids looked peaceable
enough as I passed them on the road, and I only talked with them for a
few minutes as I rested. But they have not left me since, and I cannot
get rid of them."

"Out with your sword, man," cried the Ambassador, "have you forgotten
the armour? To parley with the enemy or to argue with him is fatal. I
see your sword is sheathed and idle in your hand. Out with it and do
battle." Amer drew his sword, and at that the little grey people fled.

"My lad," said the Ambassador, "your fall has been caused by several
mistakes. First, you were not on the watch. Secondly, you thought the
enemy too small to be of much consequence. Thirdly, you forgot your
sword, and your girdle is hanging loosely about you. Take my advice,
lad, and never despise the enemy however small and insignificant he
looks. Many a battle has been lost simply through this."

"Shall I always have you at my side to help me when I fall?" asked Amer.

"Nay, I do not know that we shall ever meet again here. I have to go
elsewhere and work for the King. But what does it signify? You have the
King Himself with you, you do not need the Ambassador."

"But," said Amer perplexed, "I cannot see the King and He did not come
to my aid."

"You forgot to cry unto Him; He hears the faintest call of His
children, but you trusted in your own strength to deliver you, and
forgot Him. But He came to your aid notwithstanding, for He sent me
this way to help you."

"How may I be sure that He hears and is willing to help?" asked Amer.

"You have not studied your Guide Book enough if you have not come
across His promises." And at that the Ambassador opened the Book that
he always carried in his hand and told Amer to do the same.

"Listen to the words of the Great King," he said:—

"'The eyes of the Lord are upon the righteous, and His ears are open
unto their cry.'"

"'This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all
his troubles. The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that
fear Him, and delivereth them.' 'I will never leave thee nor forsake
thee.' 'Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.'"

At these wonderful words Amer looked up with joy, and though he was
sad at the thought that he might never see the Ambassador again till
he met him in the Radiant City, he renewed his journey with hope and
confidence.

Looking towards the East he noticed how brightly the Radiant City
shone, and for a long time he kept his eyes continually upon it and
often sang for very gladness of heart.

The loneliness of the way was scarcely noticed by him at this time as
he was so full of the Good News that the King was ever with him.

His path took him up a very steep hill. But so great was his joy that
he did not notice its steepness. About half-way up the hill, Temper met
him. Amer looking him sternly in the face was struck with his ugliness.

"Come now," he said, "I will have nothing to do with you. I have in the
past had too much of your company, but from this day I will have none
of you. Be gone," and drawing out his sword manfully he saw, to his
joy, Temper make a hasty retreat. But the enemy was not going to let
him off so easily, and met him further up the hill. Amer however was on
the look-out for him, so that he could not get near enough to strike
the young soldier, and after awhile, growing tired of waiting for an
unwatched moment, he clattered back to where he came from with a surly
countenance and a threat that he would have his revenge later.

Full of triumph at his victories, Amer went forward, congratulating
himself that he was growing a brave soldier, and that he was able to
overcome the enemy. After a while he looked again at the Radiant City,
and was rather surprised that a thin veil seemed to be between it and
him.

However he did not take much notice of this but sang lustily in
exultation.

He soon caught up a man who was walking slowly and carefully on the
same road, picking his way to avoid loose stories and slippery places.

"Good morning, friend," cried Amer, well pleased that he had found a
companion, "you are going the same way as I am."

"Yes," answered the man, "I am journeying to the Radiant City."

"How long have you been on the way?" asked Amer, wondering at the
slowness and carefulness of his walk.

"I have been ten years," he answered ruefully, "and alas, have made but
slow progress."

"Ten years!" cried Amer, "I have not been ten months! How is it,
friend, you walk so carefully and slowly?"

"Because," he answered sadly, "I have had so many a fall through
careless walking, that it has delayed me. Only last week I tripped over
a loose stone and twisted my ankle, so that the next enemy that came
past had the advantage over me."

"Do you use your sword?" asked Amer.

"My sword is never out of my hand," said the traveller, "had it not
been for that I should have been lost on the road long ago."

"But look at me," said Amer, "I have conquered triumphantly the last
enemy that attacked me, and am not now afraid. You should trust the
King more and hasten forward."

"But we must obey Him as well as trust Him," answered the traveller;
"He tells us in the Guide Book, 'Ponder the path of thy feet, and let
all thy ways be established. Turn not to the right hand nor to the
left: remove thy foot from evil.'"

"Your progress must be so slow," said Amer.

"I have learnt that 'the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to
the strong:' I have learnt this through many a downfall. I do not judge
for you or for others, but for me, my only safety is to live day by
day looking towards my King and pondering the path at my feet. Is it
not written, 'Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look
straight before thee.' 'Looking unto Jesus.'"

As the man spoke he lifted his eyes towards the Radiant City, and his
face was suffused with the light of it.

Amer followed the direction of his glance and was startled to see,
that although he had noticed the bright reflection of the City on the
traveller's face, the Radiant City itself looked still dimmer to him
than it had a few minutes before.

He made no mention of this however to his companion, but he glanced
about him a little uneasily, for he felt conscious of an influence
that he had not known before. He was not aware that one of the worst
of enemies that he could meet on his journey, was at his heels, though
quite invisible.

"Well," he said, "I must away. This slow pace does not suit me
altogether; nor do I think it necessary." And with a wave of the hand
he bounded forward.

The traveller he had left behind him, sighed.

"Ah!" he cried, "what must it be to be as good and strong as he. He
cannot be so easily tempted as I am. I shall have to walk carefully all
my life, or I shall grieve my dear Saviour, who has done so much for
me."

Then he took out his Guide Book as he walked, and opened it.

The words that met his glance were these:—

"'My Grace is sufficient for thee: for My strength is made perfect in
weakness.'"

Meanwhile Amer made his way up the hill. His sword was hanging loosely
by his side, and not seeing any enemy in sight, he took off his helmet
and carried it in his hand. His mind was full of his victories over the
enemy who had accosted him twice during his journey up the hill. As
he found himself nearing the top, so full of congratulations was he,
and so glad that it had not been his fate to make so slow a journey as
the traveller he had passed, that he began to sing. And the words he
sang were some that he had seen in the Guide Book, and which seemed
appropriate to his present state.

"'In my prosperity I said, I shall never be removed: Thou Lord, of Thy
goodness hast made my hill so strong.'"

He had scarcely come to an end of the verse, when at his elbow he
heard a voice, and on looking round he saw a man dressed in a scarlet
cloak trimmed with gold. Amer was so taken up with the grandeur of his
appearance that he scarcely looked at his face, but when he did, he
noticed that he was handsome, and had an aristocratic air about him,
and his words, together with his appearance, took the lad's fancy at
once.

"You are making a good journey," said the stranger, "I have seldom seen
a pilgrim to the Radiant City wear a happier expression. You have,
doubtless, had some victory that has cheered you."

"You are right," said Amer, colouring with pleasure, "I find the way
easier than I had anticipated, and am not so bothered with the enemy as
I expected."

"I passed a pilgrim a few miles away," said the stranger, "walking
along the path with pain; evidently he has not had the same good
fortune as you have, and has had many a fall. It cheers one to see a
young man full of health and vigour treading the path so steadily."

"I am trusting the King," said Amer, "and have read that 'He shall give
His angels charge over me that I dash not my foot against a stone.'"

"And so you are able to make quicker progress," answered his companion,
"and if it were not for your heavy armour you would be quicker still.
Come; I am going the same way as you, and I will gladly take charge of
some of your armour for you."

"But have you none of your own to carry?" said Amer, surprised,
supposing that his cloak covered it.

"No," he said, "I am a man of peace. I dropped my armour long ago and
find that I can do as well without it. Come," he added, "let me help
you to carry your sword."

"No," said Amer, remembering the warning of the Ambassador, "I will
keep my sword, but if you are so kind as to lighten my burden by
helping me to take off my shield for a bit I shall be glad. The day is
hot and I have been walking so fast that it will be a comfort to get
rid of it for a moment."

"Stay," he said, as they reached the summit of the hill and the
stranger made as if he was about to turn to the left, "I have been
given directions never to lose sight of the Radiant City or I should
lose my way. I must go straight on, neither turning to the right nor to
the left."

"But," said the stranger, "the straight path leads across that bare
desert, and will, besides being full of enemies, take you days to
cross. Now, this path which I will show you, is a short cut to the
City. You will find that you meet a few enemies only, and that the way
will be one long triumph from beginning to end. You are not by any
means an ordinary pilgrim, but have shown yourself strong to do battle
and to gain victories. You are not like that poor pilgrim who is always
tripping, that you have just seen, and who needs the experience of the
desert to give him the strength that you already possess. Come with me
and you will never regret it. And has not your Guide Book told you that
'He shall give His angels charge over you?' Why then fear?"

So after some little hesitation Amer followed the stranger and
certainly he found himself apparently wonderfully free from enemies.
Nevertheless he did not feel altogether comfortable when he found that
directly he determined to follow this man the Radiant City began to
fade from his sight. Neither was he pleased to find that he was going
down hill into a somewhat dark valley. But his companion talked away
in a sprightly manner, comparing him so favourably with many other
pilgrims that he had come across, that he had not the courage even to
hint to him that he was beginning to fear. Darker and darker grew the
way till at last, suddenly, with a shout, a band of men confronted him,
and tearing his armour from him, flung him to the ground, and binding
his feet together brought him to a dark cave and threw him into it.

It had all been done so quickly that Amer had been taken entirely by
surprise, and now realised to his great discomfort that all his armour
had been wrenched from him and that he had nothing with which to fight
the enemy. There he was left, after all his bragging and pride, a
prisoner in a dark cave, armourless. And then he began sorrowfully to
think how it had all happened. He remembered now that he had not been
altogether easy while walking by the slow pilgrim's side. He had felt
a sensation as if some antagonistic influence was near. Could it have
been all the time the stranger who had enticed him to his fall?

Then he remembered how he had talked about his own experiences and his
victories, and had quoted texts in his own favour. He remembered, too,
how he had looked down on the traveller who was walking so slowly and
carefully, thinking himself to be altogether a superior soldier of the
King's, and how he had deemed it quite safe to put off some of his
armour for a while, although the Ambassador had expressly warned him
never to part with it.

He lay and groaned. The chains hurt his feet and wrists, but the
physical pain was as nothing to the mental anguish caused by the
remembrance of his terrible fall, and the recollection that there was
no sight of the Radiant City possible in this dark cave.

For some time he sat with his head hanging down, a picture of despair.
Then he began to look around him. The first thing he saw were the
following words painted in large red letters on the walls of the cave:—

"This cave is the property of the great prince Spiritual Pride," and
underneath these words, were the rules to be followed by the soldiers
of Spiritual Pride in the capturing of the soldiers of the King of the
Radiant City. Each rule caused a further groan to escape from Amer's
lips.

1. Get talking to the traveller on the road to the Radiant City in
a friendly way, having prepared his mind beforehand by invisible
influence.

2. Encourage him to speak of his own experience, his own attainments,
either spiritual or physical.

3. If he has had any victories, remind him of his prowess and bravery.

4. Quote texts to him without their context, to prove that he should be
beyond fear of the enemy.

5. Take off his mind as much as possible from the King and Radiant City
and fix his thoughts on himself.

6. Make him think the importance of the armour less for one naturally
so strong.

7. Help him to compare himself with other travellers, their slowness,
their trips and falls, and make him congratulate himself that he is
better than they are.

8. If possible, take away his sword from him without his notice.

9. Induce him to believe that there is a short cut to the Radiant City,
and that instead of having to endure hardness, to one who is so far on
the road, the way is smooth.

10. Above all things, take his mind off the King, so that he may not
call to Him. All must be done with the greatest possible speed.

Amer groaned again and again as he read these rules.

How he envied that slow and careful traveller, whom he had once
despised. He had indeed sunk in deep waters!

Then he remembered that he had his Guide Book in his pocket. Would it
give him any rule as to how to act now that he was sorely smitten and
enchained? In the dim light of the cave he bent over it.

The words he read were those of Jonah the prophet, who, like Amer, felt
by reason of the punishment of his sin that he was cast out of God's
presence.

"'I cried by reason of mine affliction unto the Lord, and He heard me;
out of the belly of Hell cried I, and Thou heardest my voice. For Thou
hadst cast me into the deep, in the midst of the seas; and the floods
compassed me about: all Thy billows and Thy waves passed over me. Then
I said, I am cast out of Thy sight; yet I will look again toward Thy
holy temple . . . . I went down to the bottoms of the mountains; the
earth with her bars was about me for ever; yet hast Thou brought up my
life from corruption, O Lord my God. When my heart fainted within me I
remembered the Lord, and my prayer came in unto Thee, into Thine holy
temple.'"

Amer remembered also the words quoted by the Ambassador, "'This poor
man cried, and the Lord heard him, and saved him out of all his
troubles.'"

There was then this one resource left him; to cry to the King. He was
indeed poor, as he had nothing at all to boast of. He had discovered
that he was as nothing, that even his good efforts were tinged with
sin; that his victories were in no way whatever due to his own bravery;
that in fact he was a very poor soldier indeed. So he was just the one
to cry to the King, for it was written in the Guide Book, that the
"poor man cried" and the Lord heard him. All the rest of that day Amer
cried unto the King. As the night drew near he still cried. His chains
chafed his wrists and ankles and he grew faint and full of pain; but he
still cried on.

It was just his one hope, for had not the Great King promised to hear
the "poor man?" In an agony of tears and repentance he cried, and at
midnight the answer came. Invisible hands broke off his chains, and led
him out of the cave; and when to his wonderful joy he felt the fresh
air beating on his forehead, he found also that his armour had been
returned to him and that once more he was on the way to the Radiant
City. But he had to go back a great part of the way before he caught a
sight of the City. The valley which he had descended so easily in the
company of Spiritual Pride was a steep one to climb up, and it was not
till once more he reached the top of the hill from where he had last
seen the Radiant City, that he caught sight of it again. And even then
his view of it was misty, and remained so for several days.



CHAPTER VI.

THE BATTLE OF THE BOOK.

For some time after Amer had gone through the experiences related
in the last chapter, he felt the effects of his time in the cave of
Spiritual Pride, and it was long before he regained the elasticity of
spirit that was natural to him. He walked more cautiously and steadily,
and kept a sharp look-out all round, lest the enemy should get the
better of him, and in this way had many a victory, and was saved many a
blow.

One day, when somewhat tired with his journey, he came across a woman
leading a young girl by the hand.

A glance at the woman's face was enough to convince him that she had to
do with the Radiant City, for her face was beautiful with a calm light
upon it, which he knew could come from no other source.

Her name was Belthiah,* and the name of the girl Iddo.†

  * Daughter of the Lord.       † Loving.

"We are going the same way," she said, "and so long as our paths do not
diverge, let us keep one another company."

Before long they came across the slow traveller again, still walking
steadily and carefully towards the City.

"After all," said Amer to him, "I have been the one to lose time, for
after leaving you I fell in with the worst foe that I have met yet, and
was completely overcome."

The man looked up with sympathy expressed in every line of his face.

"What was his name?" he asked.

"Spiritual Pride," answered Amer, "and if it had not been for my King
sending me help, I should still be a prisoner in his cave."

"Ah!" said the man, "I have had to meet that foe myself, and I know his
ways. Poor lad!"

"Mother," said Iddo, "have we met that foe yet?"

"Very possibly, my child, and may not have recognised him. Possibly he
might not have taken such pains to overcome us, as he has taken with
these two brave servants of the King. But any day he may tempt us, and
so we must keep our eyes on the Radiant City, where dwells our King."

"Madam," said Amer, "you do not look as if you had been much troubled
on the way. What is the secret of your peace?"

The slow traveller looked uneasily about him.

"I feel the enemy is somewhere near," he said, warningly to Belthiah,
"and he is listening for your answer."

The mother gave him a grateful look, but answered simply:

"We have had communion with our King, and He has given us peace."

"And," answered the girl, "we are shod, you know, with the shoes of
peace. I lost mine one day, and had to turn back to find them."

"Besides," continued Belthiah, "we have so much to make us happy, so
many promises to rest upon."

"And, do you know?" said the girl, looking up confidingly into Amer's
face, "it is not quite certain that we shall ever have to cross the
dark river, which I cannot help sometimes dreading. The King may come
to meet us Himself, and take us up to the City."

"Yes," said her mother, "that is what helps to make us happy. We are
looking for Him: and though we gather from the Guide Book that certain
events must take place before He comes, they may happen very shortly."

"No, no Madam, there you make a mistake," said an irritable voice
behind them, and on looking back they beheld a short, stout man, who
had evidently been making a great effort to catch them up, and now
stood before them wiping his brow, and much agitated. His voice did not
sound like the voice of one travelling to the Radiant City, as it was
rasping and irritable, but the King's Mark was on his forehead, and he
had his Guide Book under his arm.

"I am always having to argue this point with people," he said,
irritably, "there is no event that must happen before the King comes.
But there I am, again," he added, ruefully, "always arguing, always
disputing, and always irritable. I beg your pardon, Madam, but when
I find people who do not see eye to eye with me in these matters,
I seem to be unable to listen to them. My name is Chisleu, which
means rashness. Alas! I am too rightly named."

"Sir," said the girl, concernedly, "your shoes have gone."

"Ah! that's like me!" he exclaimed, looking round to find his shoes
just behind him, "always trying to set others right and going wrong
myself. I lose my shoes, and then Temper comes and torments me. And yet
I am devoted to my King;" and he gave a look towards the Radiant City,
which proved to those around him that his heart was there.

"My good fellow," he said, turning to the slow traveller, "I should
be greatly obliged to you if you would tell me how it is you are so
successful against the enemy. I have been watching you for a long time
as I walked behind you, and you never seem put out whatever happens to
you, and I seldom see you even trip."

At the words a pained expression crossed the face of the traveller, and
he looked around him carefully, as if expecting to find the enemy at
his elbow; moreover, when the stranger praised him, he impulsively put
his hands over his ears to prevent hearing. But now turning his eyes
steadily towards the Radiant City he said:

"It is written in the Guide Book, 'My strength is made perfect in
weakness.'"

Amer, remembering the rules inscribed on the walls of the cave of
Spiritual Pride, noticed how the slow traveller resisted the temptation
to speak of his own experience, and spoke instead of the King.

"Ah!" sighed the stranger, "you are right. It is because I forget the
promises of my King and His Book that I fail; thank you, Sir. But
look, what is that crowd I see before me? If some poor fellow is being
belaboured by the enemy I must be off to help," and he began running,
and would even then have forgotten his shoes, if Iddo had not cried
after him,

"Your shoes, your shoes."

"What a warm heart that man has!" said Belthiah, "full of feeling for
others and of humility."

"But how cross he was," said Iddo, "not as a soldier of the Great King
ought to be."

"Hush, child!" whispered her mother, "the enemy is near. I hear his
whisper in your voice. The King tells us not to judge."

When the travellers had reached the crowd they saw a strange sight. A
large number of pilgrims with the King's Mark upon them were standing
around a man who was talking in a loud voice. In his hand he held
the Guide Book, and as he spoke he tore out first one page and then
another, throwing them behind him.

"It is not by any means authentic," he was saying, "and certain parts
which you have taken for truth are nothing more or less than allegory
and fable, while other apparent prophecies were not written by the
people you 'suppose, but by men long after the events had happened, so
are not prophecies at all."

"Mother, mother," cried Iddo, looking up with tears in her eyes, "do
you hear what the man is saying about our Guide Book?"

But before her mother had time to answer, a loud voice rang out, which
Iddo recognised at once as that of Chisleu, the stranger with whom they
had just been talking.

"That's a lie," he cried, "no one need believe it. The book is true
from beginning to end."

Then there arose an uproar.

"Let the preacher alone," cried one, "he says he has studied the
question, and moreover confesses that he himself is journeying to the
Radiant City. Let him speak. If he has anything to teach us let him do
it."

"But it is false," cried Chisleu, "don't listen to him. He's a wolf in
sheep's clothing."

"Take the intruder away," shouted some of the bystanders, "we wish to
hear what the preacher has to say. It may be true or it may be false,
but we wish to hear him."

"Come away, dear," said her mother to Iddo, "it won't do us any good to
listen."

"But," said Iddo, "what did he mean? No one ever doubts, surely, the
truth of the Guide Book? If it is not true, how shall we ever find
our way to the Radiant City, or indeed how do we know that there is a
Radiant City to find?" she added, sobbing.

"My child," said the mother, "it is a sad fact that now-a-days there
are people who are tearing the Guide Book to pieces. They do not
realize what mischief they are doing, and hope that people's faith will
grow stronger rather than weaker through their criticism, instead of
which the enemy is watching at all such gatherings at which we have
been, and is doing his utmost to sow seeds of doubt in people's minds.
But I think these very attacks on the Book go to prove its authorship.
The enemy cannot leave it alone, as he knows that so long as we have
the Guide Book, and love and believe in it, we will follow it and it
will lead us to the Radiant City. I have never found the Word to fail
me, and it has been the guide of millions of travellers who have now
reached Home. Some, indeed, when just crossing the River, have actually
seen the King, so that those who have gone as far as they were allowed
with them into the dark valley, have been filled with joy, and their
faith has been strengthened. The Guide Book is true from beginning to
end: that good man was right in what he said, although I could have
wished that he had spoken in a more sober manner, and with less heat.
But he cannot argue. His heart is better than his head."

"Oh mother, he frightened me," said Iddo, wiping away her tears, "and
I saw many people were laughing at him. Is he really journeying to the
Radiant City? He is so different from Amer and that good man who has
been walking with us."

"He loves the King, my child," said the mother, "and it is his very
love that makes him speak when perhaps it would be wiser to be silent.
But the King can alter all that is not right in him, and as for me I
would rather have the heart on fire than the brain."

"Where is Amer?" suddenly asked Iddo.

Amer had stayed behind to listen, and now was seen coming towards
them with his eyes bent in deep thought on the ground, his girdle was
hanging loosely about him. They walked together somewhat silently, and
only discovered after some time that the slow traveller was by now far
ahead of them. Evidently he had not waited to hear the words of the
speaker in the crowd, but had walked steadily on, and it was some time
before they caught him up. When at last they did so, Amer asked him if
he had heard what had been said by the orator.

"When I found what he was speaking about," said the traveller quietly,
"I moved on. I made up my mind before I set out on my journey that the
Guide Book was the message of the King of the Radiant City, and if it
is His Book there can be no fabrication or fable in it."

They had not gone far on the road before they came upon a man sitting
bey the wayside with his head hidden in his hands and groaning.

"Friend," said Belthiah, "what is your trouble?"

But he did not look up, a groan was the only answer.

"He has just encountered the enemy," said the slow traveller.

"See how wounded he is," said Amer, "and yet his mind is more wounded
than his body, he scarcely notices the hurt."

"Ah yes!" moaned the man, "I am sore wounded. I have no strength even
to look up, the enemy has overpowered me. I am in the lowest hell."

"Poor man," sighed Iddo gently, "how I wish I could help you."

"Lady," he said urgently to Belthiah, "take your sweet child away, I
am no fit company for her; and you, young man, leave me too. I only
ask this friend to stay a few minutes with me that I may tell him my
trouble."

Slowly they obeyed his request, for none of them could endure the
thought of leaving the poor man in such a plight.

"Friend," said the wounded man to the slow traveller, as he sat down
beside him, "I have lost my Guide Book and I have lost my sword. In
fact the enemy has taken my armour off piece by piece and hope is dead
within me."

"When did the enemy attack you?" asked his companion.

"Ah! that is the sad part of the story. I found someone in distress on
the road. The great enemy Doubt had him in his grip. His Guide Book
had been torn to pieces by those who think they are helping others in
taking out leaf after leaf of the volume and throwing it on one side.
Forgetful of my own weakness and sin, I spent hours with him trying to
combat the enemy by his side, but I forgot to be watchful myself. I
thought I was too strong and too brave a soldier to be overcome, and
forgot to cry to the King; and as I was talking I suddenly felt the
enemy himself seize me, and before I knew where I was he had wrenched
the Book and my sword from my hands, and had dealt me a blow which at
first I thought was that of my death blow. Friend, hope and light and
joy are passed for me. Despair has me in his grip, and rather than
endure this misery, and doubt my King and my City, I mean to go by a
short cut to the dark river."

Then the slow traveller stood up, looked towards the Radiant City, and
prayed.

"Friend," he said, as he fastened his girdle about him more securely,
"I will fight the enemy with you."

"Nay, nay," cried the other, "your fate will be the same as mine. I
pray you not to hinder your journey in this way. I beseech you not to
trouble about me. The enemy will overcome you as he has me. You are
happy in your faith. You have your Guide Book next to your heart, and
your sword in your hand. You believe in the Radiant City, and in your
King. I will not be the one to throw you into the hands of the great
enemy Doubt."

"Friend," said the traveller, while a radiant light from the City
touched his helmet and illumined his face, "when my King calls me to
fight, He will see that I get the victory, and I fight kneeling." And
at that he knelt, and the enemy, who had been invisible, came towards
him in all his strength, and hurled his battle axe at him, but the
traveller parried the blow with the sword. So deadly was the fight
that great drops broke out on the forehead of the combatants, as the
darkness of night overshadowed them. For many hours they wrestled, and
all the time the traveller never rose from his knees.

"Fight," he gasped at last to his companion, "fight, man, for there
are more with us than against us, and I see the glimmering of dawn,"
and even as he spoke a faint light broke upon them, and rested on the
traveller's shield, and by its light the wounded man saw that his own
Guide Book, and the sword he had lost, were lying by his side within
his reach. He stretched out his hands to grasp his sword, and as he
did so invisible hands fastened on his armour, bit by bit, and he was
strengthened for the fight. So skilfully did he now begin to use his
sword that between the two, who both fought on their knees, the enemy
gradually began to falter in his attacks, and was finally driven back.

"The King be praised," said the traveller, as he rose, pale and weary,
and looked towards the Radiant City. The light of it was on his brow,
and his shield and breastplate blazed brighter than they had ever done
before, as he began to help the victorious soldier to his feet.

"The King be praised," echoed the other, "'which teacheth my hands to
war, and my fingers to fight.' 'If the Lord Himself had not been on
our side . . . they had swallowed us up quick . . . But praised be the
Lord; who hath not given us over for a prey unto their teeth.'"

"'Our soul is escaped, even as a bird out of the snare of the fowler,'"
added his friend, "'the snare is broken, and we are delivered. Our help
standeth in the Name of the Lord Who bath made Heaven and Earth.'"

Then the two men grasped hands.

"Friend," said the man, whose wounds had been healed, "tell me your
name, as I shall ever hold it in loving remembrance and gratitude."

"My name is Heman,"* he answered, "and yours, my friend?"

"Joezer,"† he said, "alas! I am rash, and underrate the power of the
enemy. I forgot the fact which you remembered, that this enemy always
aims at the knees. If he can wound the knees he is much more certain
of victory, but I saw you fought kneeling, and copied your example.
Praised be the King for your help and friendship, Heman."

As his fellow traveller passed from him, Heman, looking towards the
Radiant City, cried triumphantly,

"Thy word is true from the beginning: and every one of Thy righteous
judgments endureth for ever."

  * Faithful.       † Whose help is the Lord.



CHAPTER VII.

THE LAND OF ENCHANTMENT.

It was not long after this that Amer found his path diverging from
that upon which the mother and her child were travelling. For though
the direction was always the same for every pilgrim, each individual
had her or his own separate path which they had to follow. Sometimes,
therefore, it happened that friends would be parted for quite a long
time and then would, to their joy, suddenly meet again.

It was with sorrow that Amer found his path diverging from that of
his good friends, whose company had been so much valued by him. Iddo
wept when she looked upon his retreating figure, for he had been as
a brother to her. And indeed her weeping gave a little enemy called
Discontent just the opportunity he wanted to worry her. For some days
he got such victories over her that her mother began to look grave and
sad, as she noticed that her child's shield was growing dull for the
want of attention, and the sword lay too often in its scabbard.

"My child," she said, "do you really think that your King settles the
path of each of his soldiers? I fear you are doubting this."

"The way seems so dull without Amer," sobbed the girl.

"It is the enemy that speaks, Iddo," said her mother, "and, if you
are not careful, another more dangerous will come to the help of
Discontent. Once let him get a hold on you and you will find he is a
constant annoyance, and it will need all the strength you have to shake
him off."

"What is his name, Mother?" asked Iddo.

"His name is Depression. He comes with tears and groans at first and
you are inclined to pity him, but, if you harbour him even for a day,
he begins to bind you with invisible chains till you suddenly awake to
find yourself in his grip."

"Mother, has he ever worried you?"

"Yes, indeed," was her answer, "soon after your father left us for the
Radiant City he came and attacked me. And it is because I know what he
is that I warn you my child to fight him at once if he ever tries to
get the better of you. Cry at once to the King when you catch a sight
of him and draw out your sword. Never for a moment talk with him."

"What has Discontent to do with him?" asked Iddo.

"He is one of his scouts. He goes about to see how the land lies,
and where he sees a favourable opportunity of Depression getting an
entrance, he prepares the way for him. In fact, he is in his pay. Did
you not notice how Depression had the poor wounded man in his grip? If
ever he sees a man worsted in the fight, he at once joins company with
him. I do not know what other enemy had wounded the man we passed, but
I know that Depression was standing over him with his poisoned arrows,
hoping to kill him."

"Then I must have nothing to do with him," said Iddo, "and I must pray
for Amer instead of dreaming about him so much. I shall grow happy
praying for him."

And Amer needed the prayers of his little friend and of her mother, for
his path now led him through a very dangerous part of his journey; and
what made it all the more so for him was the fact, that for the greater
part of the way, some of the words of the preacher to the crowd, to
whom he had listened, filled his mind.

Amer did not know that the enemy Doubt was walking invisible by his
side, suggesting difficulties in the Guide Book, neither did he know
that the decision to talk over some of these difficulties with the
people he met was also the work of the enemy.

Being of a somewhat speculative turn of mind the matters brought
forward by the preacher had interested Amer greatly, and he did not
realize that to throw scorn on one part of the Guide Book was to weaken
the whole, and to take away much of its helpfulness as a guide. Neither
did he know that the Guide Book and sword were so connected that to
doubt the one was as good as throwing away the other. He forgot the
advice of the Ambassador to cling to his Guide Book, and his warning
that to lose it was to lose the battle, and so to lose his soul.

Had he followed the same course as Heman, instead of listening to the
opinions of men like himself and to the whispers of the enemy, he would
have met him in open warfare, crying to his King all the time for help.

Afterwards, when he looked back upon this sad part of his journey, he
remembered how little at this time he was really using the Book as
his guide, or studying it as he did at first. His mind was full of
speculative questions, and while this was the case he did not study the
Book to learn from it truths which would have helped on his spiritual
advancement, and have made him strong in case of attack.

His path led him across the land of Achshaph.* It was a land full of
danger to the unwary, but thousands of pilgrims had passed through it
unscathed, because their armour was bright and their sword in their
hand. For those who asked for it, a special guard was sent to take them
across; an invisible guard, but a guard that never failed to bring them
in safety to the other side; but Amer, instead of a guard, had for
his invisible companion the enemy Doubt, and so drew near to the land
without fear or much thought.

And when he was once inside its gates, he was enchanted with what he
saw.

Green fields besprinkled with flowers of every hue and scent, trees
throwing their grateful shade between the hot traveller and the
sun, fruit hanging from heavily laden bushes, rivers and fountains
refreshing the heated air.

"The land is rightly named," he murmured, "it is indeed the land of
Enchantment."

  * Enchantment

The first person he met was a man of a very taking personality, who
came towards him with extended hand and bright smile. Amer, forgetting
that he was in the enemy's country, was only too glad to have him for a
companion, specially as he had plenty to say for himself and was able
to tell him much about the beauties of Achshaph and of the manners of
its inhabitants. His name was Self.

"Stay," he said suddenly, as the lad was steadily making his way along
the path at his feet, "stay, you look thoroughly tired and weary with
your journey. Here is a mossy bank, sit down and rest awhile."

Amer looked longingly at the cool green bank, but as he hesitated he
fancied he heard a voice singing the following words:—

  "Soldier, rest, but not for thee
     Spreads the world its downy pillow,
   On the rock thy couch must be
     While around thee chafes the billow:
   Thine must be a watchful sleep
     Wearier than another's waking,
   Such a watch as thou dost keep
     Brooks no moment of forsaking.
   Sleep as on the battlefield,
     Girded—grasping sword and shield;
   Those thou can'st not name nor number,
     Steal upon thy broken slumber."

With a sigh Amer continued his journey, saying,

"I fear to stay in this enchanting place longer than is necessary, and
I have no time to sleep."

But Self, his companion, was not discouraged. He had heard the sigh
and had noticed that the Guide Book was being held very loosely in the
lad's hand, and was aware that the enemy Doubt could not be far off,
for he saw his shadow on the lad's face. Self congratulated himself
as he noticed this shadow, knowing full well that the presence of his
friend Doubt made his victory the more sure, for the one often prepared
the way for the other and were known to be friends.

"At any rate," said Self, "refresh yourself with some of the fruit of
the land; you can pluck it as you walk and I assure you it will help
you in your course rather than hinder, for you have but to take a
mouthful or two and you will feel invigorated."

Amer turned and looked at his companion.

Certainly his face was unusually pleasant and good-natured, surely
there could be little harm in following his advice. Might not this
pleasant fellow be a friend rather than an enemy?

So Amer stretched out his hand and plucked a golden fruit from off the
tree he was passing, and putting it to his lips he was delighted with
its taste, and for the moment it seemed to give him fresh strength.

But on lifting his eyes towards the Radiant City he noticed that it was
very indistinct. Moreover, though the fruit had seemed to give him a
filip for a time, he had not walked far before he became conscious that
his footsteps flagged.

Was it his fancy that again he heard the voice singing in the distance?

  "Watch, as if on that alone,
     Hung the issue of the day,
   Pray that help may be sent down,
     Watch and pray."

But Self still walked by his side and Amer found him no dull company.
They had much to say to one another and many discussions. Sometimes
Amer seemed to get the better of him, at other times his companion
argued so forcibly that the lad saw matters in his light and acted
accordingly, and all the while the Radiant City became more and more
indistinct to him; his armour which hung about him was ill kept and his
sword grew rusty.

It was after having a long discussion with Self that Amer heard a cry
as of pain, and on looking up a glade he saw an elderly man lying prone
on the ground, having caught his foot in a root of a tree. His ankle
was so sprained that he could not lift himself up, and Amer made a
movement as if to go to his aid. But Self plucked him by the sleeve,
saying,

"It is almost a pity that you should take the trouble to help him, he
is old enough to take care of himself, and should have known better
than to have tripped. You have your own business to attend to; besides
while you are in Achshaph I want you to see all that is to be seen and
to enjoy yourself. Listen! Do you hear that music?"

And suddenly Amer heard the most entrancing music, as down a green
path, bordered with flowering shrubs, came a troop of men and maidens
playing some kind of wind instrument, which made music such as the lad
had never heard before.

"Sit down and listen," suggested Self, and Amer, fascinated and
enthralled, obeyed, oblivious of the fact that he had wandered out
of the beaten track, which had he followed would have led him to the
spot where the fallen man lay, and unconscious that the Radiant City
was now out of sight. Resting there under the green trees, soothed and
enervated by the entrancing music, Amer almost forgot the journey to
the Radiant City, the fight, the dangers of the way, and could think
of little save the flowers, the fruit, the music and the beautiful
inhabitants of the Land of Enchantment. And all the time that Self
clamoured to be heard, filling his outward senses with dreams of
delight, grim Doubt stalked invisible by his side, flinging every now
and then darts into his mind.

Amer had taken off his helmet and shield, so that the darts, which
we small, found easy access, and pierced him though he was scarcely
conscious of them; every now and then one sharper than the others
would make him start and tremble, but so enamoured was he with his
surroundings that instead of rousing himself to don his armour afresh,
he would turn the more readily to Self to devise some means by which
to make him forget the pain they caused. He was rudely awakened by a
rasping voice that he recognised at once as that belonging to Chisleu.

"What now! What now!" he exclaimed, "resting among the roses? Why,
friend, you scarcely look like a pilgrim to the Radiant City. Get up
with you lad, this is not your home."

"It is no business of yours what I do," said Amer at the suggestion
of Temper, who had been watching the lad from a distance, and had
been biding his time, and now exulted in his opportunity of worrying
his former companion; "if I care to rest on my journey in the land of
Achshaph, what is that to you?"

"What is it to me, Sir?" repeated Chisleu, "why it is a great deal to
me. We are brothers, and I can't see my brother a prey to the enemy
without doing my best to help him. You are young, and do not know the
dangers of the land through which we are passing."

"I am well pleased with it for a time," said Amer, "and I beg you will
leave me alone."

"That I certainly will not do," said Chisleu with some heat, "leave a
brother in the hands of the enemy! That is not my way."

"What's wrong with the land?"

"What's wrong? Why, it is a death trap. I was warned before I entered
it of its dangers. Pray, my lad, have you eaten any of its fruits?"

"Yes," said Amer, "and though it was delicious at the time, it leaves
an uncomfortable taste in the mouth."

"Ah! just so, just so," said Chisleu, and all the time he was speaking
he was perpetually looking down at his feet to make sure that his shoes
were still there.

"I can do no good without my shoes," he murmured.

"But," said Amer, "I cannot think what my affairs have to do with you.
And, besides, we are not all made alike, what might do you harm need
not necessarily hurt me. Every man must judge for himself."

"Every man must go by the Guide Book," answered Chisleu hastily, "we
are there told that we are not to lean to our own understanding.
And also, young man," he added, "we are told 'Let him that thinketh
he standeth take heed lest he fall.' You are on dangerous ground my
friend."

Amer looked up at the man who was giving him such good advice. His face
was red and agitated, but the lad could not but be conscious that a
real concern for his welfare was the cause of his excitement. However,
Amer was in no mood to listen to him, and the man's excitability and
somewhat dictatorial manner irritated him; had Chisleu been calmer and
less emotional he would have had far greater influence over the one he
longed to help.

"I thank you, Sir, for your interest in me," said Amer coldly, "but I
really feel that it is my own concern," and he rose from the ground
intending to walk away, but to his vexation he found his foot was
entangled, and he could not stir. Seeing that Chisleu had not perceived
his difficulty, he hid the fact from him, and the man baffled in his
efforts, and sorely tried at the thought of leaving this lad in such
danger, walked slowly away, his kind heart full of pity.

"Ah!" he sighed to himself, "how little good I am! If it had been
Heman, the boy would have listened. There I am again, telling others of
their faults and failures, and all the time I am full of them myself.
I am thankful, however, that it was not my shoes this time, and that
Temper was disappointed, but I am sadly wanting in wisdom. Poor lad!
Poor lad! But, after all, the King knows, and will send some one more
worthy than I to his aid."

Directly Chisleu's back was turned Amer began to try to disentangle his
foot from the long grass that seemed to have caught it, but looking
closer he discovered that a very thin gold chain had wound itself
around his ankle; so thin was it that Amer never doubted for a moment
that he could break it. But it resisted all his efforts. There it was;
a tiny line of gold glittering in the sunshine among the thick grasses.

Provoked that such a small thing should prevent him stirring, Amer
looked around him in the hope of finding someone to help him. But no
one was in sight. Self, laughing at his discomfiture, was not far off,
but did not go to his aid. Amer began to wish then that he had taken
the good advice of Chisleu, who would certainly have done all in his
power to release him. The lad's sword was lying hidden in the long
grass by his side, but he forgot it, and tugged and tugged away at the
chain in the hope of breaking it.

At last, being very hot and tired from his efforts, he lay down again
to wait the appearance of some one who might help him, and suddenly
bethought him of his Guide Book.

When he took it out of his pocket he found that since last reading
it several pages had gone. He remembered they had become loose while
listening to the preacher to the crowd on the heath, and probably had
dropped out during his journey. This distressed him not a little, and
the words that met his eyes on opening the book added to his distress,
as they seemed to corroborate all that Chisleu had been saying. They
were these:

"'There is a way which seemeth right unto a man, but the end thereof
are the ways of death. Even in laughter the heart is sorrowful; and the
end of that mirth is heaviness.' 'The simple believeth every word: but
the prudent man looketh well to his going.'"

As poor Amer bent over his Guide Book, feeling very sad at heart and
beginning to repent of his folly and sin in not obeying the commands of
his King, to "'turn not to the right hand nor to the left,'" Doubt was
creeping about in the long grass behind him. Feeling a presence near
him, Amer turned round sharply, and at last saw the enemy who had been
for a time invisible.

"Studying your Guide Book," said Doubt, "why, I thought you had nearly
given that up. Don't you remember the preacher, who told you that much
that you imagined to be truth is after all only fable? How do you know
that the Radiant City to which the Guide Book professes to lead you is
not fable too?"

"Begone," cried Amer, "you have done enough mischief already to me.
Begone, I say."

"But why this sudden change of front on your part? I thought you were
enjoying yourself in this place partly because you were not quite so
sure of the truth of your Guide Book. You felt that if the Guide Book
was not true you need not walk quite so carefully along the road, and
might at least rest and enjoy yourself on the way till you had made up
your mind upon the question."

"Begone," cried Amer in distress, "I will have none of you. If you come
any nearer you shall taste of my sword."

"Your sword!" laughed the enemy, "It has grown rusty by this time, you
would scarcely remember how to wield it. Come, now, let me sit down by
your side and talk over this matter."

But by this time Amer, now thoroughly convinced of his folly in having
anything whatever to do with the King's enemies, wrenched his sword
from its scabbard, and rusty though it was, wielded it to such good
effect that for the time Doubt fled. But with the victory over Doubt,
came a terrible sense of sin and fear. If the Guide Book was the Word
of the Great King, if every word of it was true, if the King knew each
act of his servants and even their thoughts, which the Guide Book
affirmed, in what a terrible position was Amer!

Ever since he had lingered to listen to the preacher giving out his
views as to the supposed unauthenticity of the Guide Book, he had been
growing more and more careless; for instead of taking his difficulties
straight to the King, he had talked them over rashly with all he met.
His Guide Book had lain long unread in his pocket, for the speculations
into which he dived did not help him to read it in order to get at
the truth, but simply made him eager to hear all men's ideas on the
subject, which ideas he imbibed almost unconsciously.

This had resulted in carelessness of walk, and in his present state. It
had been carelessness that had made him delay in this beautiful land,
and enjoy its delights, because all the while he had had at the back of
his mind the thought that possibly the Radiant City might, after all,
be a dream. But now that he had put Doubt to flight, and realized his
position, he felt in despair. Was the King so merciful that He would
have compassion on such an erring traveller as himself? How he envied
Chisleu, who notwithstanding his rashness, the mistakes he made, and
his trying disposition, was evidently conscious of the love of the
King, and so openly devoted to Him.

"It was just because he belonged to the King that he cares for me, and
he called me his brother," said Amer to himself.

Amer dared not call to the King. He felt too far off. He could only
beat upon his breast and cry, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner." He
felt helpless. His foot was beginning to swell, as in his struggle with
the chain, instead of loosening it he had only dragged it tighter. Then
he began to cry out loudly, "Have mercy upon me O Lord, have mercy upon
me."

Suddenly, in the midst of his anguish, he looked up and saw a familiar
figure advancing towards him. It was that of Heman. Amer noticed that
his eyes were upraised, and that their expression was one of intense
earnestness. He was looking neither to the right nor to the left, for
being conscious of the dangers of the place he was obeying the King's
command to the letter; "Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine
eyelids look straight before thee." On his brow the radiance from the
City of the King was resting. Amer had not seen anything to remind him
of the Radiant City ever since he had parted with Belthiah and Iddo,
and he now hailed the reminder with a strange feeling of home sickness.

"Heman," he cried, "Heman."

At the words Heman, who had, because of a fear of the fascination of
the Land of Enchantment, been holding very close converse with his
King, looked round as if awakened from a dream, and saw at his feet the
lad whom he had met more than once in the way before.

"Help," cried Amer, all his pride gone, "help, friend. I am in an agony
of fear lest my King will not have mercy on me. And see I am still
so entangled in this Land of Enchantment—Land of Death I should call
it—that I cannot move a step from it."

Then, looking towards the Radiant City and taking hold of the chain
with his hand, Heman wrenched it apart and set the lad free.

"Come, my lad," he said, "come," and he began to move away at once.
"We must not delay a moment in this Land. It infects those who linger
within it with a sleeping sickness that once given way to is almost
impossible to combat. Come lad with me and 'let thine eyes look right
on and let thine eyelids look straight before thee.' Do you not see
how the long grass is waving? Enemies are hiding within it ready to
hurl their poisoned darts at you. You are lost if you hesitate. Hold
communion with the King as you pass them and they dare not touch you."

"Ah! But have I a King now?" sighed Amer.

"Has He not said, 'Him that cometh to Me I will in nowise cast out.'
Can we doubt His mercy? He who died for us."

"Since you have released me from the chain I begin to think that you
may have been the answer to my cry. I cried unto the Lord to have mercy
upon me."

"And He has heard your cry," said Heman.



CHAPTER VIII.

STRAYING FROM THE PATH.

Belthiah and Iddo passed the outskirts of the Land of Achshaph on their
journey. Iddo looked curiously into the green glades of the land, and
what she saw there fascinated her.

"Mother," she cried, "look at the flowers in those lanes, they are
lovely. I have never seen such large ones; surely I may pluck some of
them."

"You could not pick them without going out of your path, my child,"
said her mother, "see, your path only skirts the land. It is not the
way the King has appointed you to tread."

Iddo still looked longingly at the flowers.

"It would only be a very little way out of the path," she murmured,
"and it seems such a pity to pass them by."

Her mother was silent as she walked steadily forward, but Iddo lagged
behind.

Only a yard or two from her path were flowers such as she had never
seen or dreamt of. Their blossoms were sprinkled in rich profusion
over the grass; blossoms of deep purple and red, while in the distance
she caught sight of others of bright blue, which attracted her still
more. Iddo hesitated a moment. There would be time to run and pick a
few before her mother had turned the next corner. The temptation was
strong, and suddenly the girl gave way to it. Leaving her path she ran
into the green glade, and stooping down picked as many flowers as her
hands could hold. Then sitting down in the grass she began to decorate
herself with them, placing some in her waistband, and other blossoms in
her hair.

"How pretty," sighed a voice by her side.

Iddo looked round quickly, and saw a dainty little lady standing beside
her, dressed in very fine clothing.

The girl was startled, and suddenly remembered that she had wandered
away from her right path; but the little creature in front of her did
not look alarming, so though Iddo rose from the ground she lingered by
her side. Besides, the compliment that had been paid to her was not
lost upon the girl.

"These flowers are lovely," she murmured.

"But never so lovely as when they deck a pretty maiden," answered her
companion, "it is a pity that the people of Achshaph cannot see you,"
she added.

"Are there many people in this land?" asked Iddo.

"Yes, very many, and they are happy from morning to night. But would
you like to see yourself? If you come a few steps with me I will show
you a lovely picture."

"Oh! I dare not," said Iddo, sorely longing all the time to go with her
gay little companion, "I am afraid of losing my way."

"Losing your way? Where are you going to?"

"I am on my way to the Radiant City," said Iddo, "and I have no time to
lose."

"You need not lose many minutes if you would like to see how you look.
Those blue flowers suit your hair exactly; come just a few yards
further;" and Iddo gave way to the temptation, and followed her guide
till she came to the brink of a pool, where she was told to kneel down
and take a long look. What she saw fascinated her. It was a lovely face
that was reflected in the pool, so lovely that the child at once busied
herself with a fresh arrangement of the flowers in her hair.

"What a pity there is no one else to see you," said her companion. Iddo
stood up flushed and pleased.

"Would they like to see me, do you think?" she asked.

"To be sure they would, but they would be afraid of you if you show
your armour so plainly. Why do you wear it?"

"I wear it because I am on the way to the Radiant City, and there are
many enemies to fight. Are there any here?"

"No, they are all friends here. They would laugh at such a thing. You
must certainly hide your sword if you want to get to know any of them."

"I don't like to take it off," said Iddo, looking down wistfully, "but
really there does not seem much point in having it here; the place
seems so peaceful, and if all the people are as bright and nice as you
are, there can surely be no need of it. I think I can, however, hide it
in the skirt of my dress."

"But, then, there is your helmet," said her companion, "you would
look very queer here in a helmet, and in the rest of your armour. I
have seen some of the pilgrims passing through Achshaph wearing full
armour," she added, laughing, "and they looked quite ridiculous. In
fact, the people of Achshaph were so amused at them that, I assure you,
they did not have at all a happy time of it. They looked neither to the
right nor to the left, even when the most lovely music was played on
purpose to attract them. They would not pluck a single apple from the
trees."

"Is there beautiful music?" asked Iddo, her eyes brightening.

"Yes, indeed, music and dancing and playing of all sorts. And as you
are so very pretty, my dear, you will get the best of everything, only
you know you really must not show all that armour."

"I'll tuck my sword under my dress," said Iddo, now quite bent on
seeing more of Achshaph, "and I'll hide my helmet and the rest of my
armour in this long grass. There will be no difficulty in finding them
again, will there?"

"No difficulty whatever," said Madam Vanity, for that was her name,
"and it is the only way if you want to enjoy Achshaph. They must never
guess that you are a pilgrim to the Radiant City."

Iddo looked grave for a moment, and then stood listening.

"Did you hear that?" she asked.

"Hear what, my dear? I only heard the breeze in the trees."

"I thought I heard my mother's voice," said Iddo, with a little gasp,
then she added, "I don't think I ought to come, and I am sure that
mother would not like me to be afraid of letting people know that I am
a pilgrim."

"You will be with her again very soon, and it is only just for an hour
that you will play at being something else," and all the while Madam
Vanity was speaking, she was making a lovely wreath for the girl's
hair, and at her last words she fastened it among her tresses, and bade
her look at herself once more.

"You'll be a thorough success in Achshaph," she said gaily, "come, put
away those scruples and enjoy yourself," and after helping Iddo to hide
away her armour in the grass, and to arrange her sword within the folds
of her skirt so that it did not show, she took her hand and led the way.

And for the next few hours Iddo almost forgot that she was a pilgrim.

"This is my cousin," said Madam Vanity, and as she spoke another small
person came towards Iddo with a smile. Her name was Love of Admiration,
and she, like Madam Vanity, looked so small and unformidable, that it
never struck Iddo that they were enemies that had prevented many a one
from starting on the journey to the Radiant City, and had hindered and
worried real Pilgrims with their suggestions and temptations.

Love of Admiration took her into a lovely glade where there were a
number of youths and girls playing games, and no sooner were they aware
of Iddo than they came round her exclaiming at her beauty, and begging
her to play with them. Iddo, flushed and excited, was only too pleased
to join them, and she was made so much of and admired so greatly that
she was perfectly happy, and was quite unconscious of the flight of the
hours. Her companions vied with one another in getting her beautiful
fruit to eat, in presenting her with the rarest flowers, and in
choosing her for their partner in the games.

There was one girl called Aimee, to whom Iddo took a special fancy,
she was older than herself, and had a more thoughtful face than her
companions. Thinking that Iddo might be shy among so many strangers,
she took great notice of her, and Iddo rewarded her kindness by a
wholehearted devotion. How swiftly the hours flew by the girl did
not know; it seemed to her like a happy dream; and conscious of her
popularity and of the admiration she attracted, she began to think
herself of some importance, and contrasted herself very favourably with
the other girls with whom she came into contact. The expression of her
face was gradually altering, for Madam Vanity and her cousin were often
at her side holding conversation with her.

During a lull in the games, Iddo found courage to tell her special
friend that she was a pilgrim to the Radiant City. She was not prepared
for the effect of her words. A look of disdain crossed her companion's
face.

"I was told that you were," she answered, "but I would not believe it.
You are quite unlike every other pilgrim I have met."

"How am I unlike them?" asked Iddo, feeling rather uncomfortable.

"The other pilgrims have worn their armour all the time they have
passed through our land. But you don't seem to have any."

"Oh yes I have," exclaimed Iddo, "look, here is my sword."

"You have managed to hide it well," said her companion.

"The friend who brought me to you told me it would never do to meet you
all, dressed in my armour," said Iddo.

"You were afraid of being laughed at I suppose?"

The tone of voice, full of scorn as it was, brought the colour into
Iddo's face.

"I always meant to show it before I left you," she murmured. Aimee
looked at Iddo with an expression that the girl did not quite
understand.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked.

"I was thinking how much more I respected the pilgrims who are not
ashamed of their King and their Country," said Aimee.

"Oh!" said Iddo, "I am afraid you despise me, I could not bear to think
that."

"Well, my dear, don't think of it! See, the game is beginning again.
Notwithstanding your lack of courage, there is something about you that
I like; come, they are looking for you."

And in the pleasure of joining in the game, Iddo forgot for a time the
disagreeable sensation that the look of scorn she had caught on Aimee's
face, had produced in her.

It was sometime after this that the game suddenly stopped at the
approach of a girl as pretty as Iddo, and with much more to say for
herself, and Iddo's admirers, with a hasty apology, left her one by one
and centred round the new corner.

Iddo turned red with disappointment, and sat down on the grass to watch.

"It is very unfair," whispered a voice by her side, "you are far
prettier than this new girl."

Iddo, startled, looked around her, and saw a man leaning against a
tree, watching the group around the new corner with fire smouldering
in his eyes. He was an ugly man, and at first she so disliked the
look of him that she paid no attention to his words, nevertheless her
disappointment at being deserted changed at his remark to vexation.

"Every one admired and spoilt you till that girl came," the man
continued, "they are very fickle."

Iddo felt this stranger was so much in sympathy with her that she
looked at him again, and her face caught something of the gloomy
expression that his wore.

"What shall I do?" she asked, "it is horrid sitting here all by myself,
when that girl is being so courted. Please give me your advice."

"Wait and see," said the man, whose name was Jealousy, and as he spoke
the crowd came dancing and laughing in her direction. One or two seeing
her sitting alone made their way towards her.

"Pretend not to notice them," whispered Jealousy at her shoulder.

So Iddo turned away her face as they approached. They did not, however,
at first notice her behaviour.

"Have you seen that pretty girl who has just joined us?" they asked.

"I don't think she is pretty," said Iddo, at the suggestion of the
enemy.

"She is quite lovely," they returned, "and her voice is like a bird's.
You should hear her sing. It is the sweetest voice we have heard for a
long time."

"Her voice has no strength in it," answered Iddo.

"Well, it may not be strong, but it is as sweet as a bird's."

"I don't think so," argued the girl testily, "I heard distinctly two or
three flat notes, she can't have a correct ear."

"Well you are hard to please," they said, as they turned away; while
others, seeing that Jealousy was at Iddo's elbow, stayed, determined to
have a little fun.

"She is going to dance," said one, "look at her gracefulness. It seems
to me that whatever she attempts she does well."

"We have never had such an addition to our company," said another,
"every one pales beside her."

"Look at the lovely flush on her cheeks," said a third, "surely," he
added, turning to Iddo, who was sitting, miserable and angry, on the
grass by the side of Jealousy, "surely you must admire her?"

"No, I don't," said Iddo, sullenly.

"How disagreeable you are," they exclaimed, laughing, "we thought you
were a very different kind of girl," and as they moved away Iddo heard
one of them remark:

"How that girl has disimproved. She has such a sour expression on her
face, which quite spoils her beauty, and she evidently cannot bear
anyone being admired but herself."

"Did you hear that?" asked Jealousy. "I think the way they are treating
you is quite disgraceful."

Had Belthiah seen her little daughter at that moment she would scarcely
have recognized her. Her brow was puckered with vexation, and her eyes
wore a remarkable likeness in their expression to that of the enemy by
her side—they were moody and sullen.

"I think I shall go away," she murmured.

"No, don't go away," answered Jealousy, "show them that you don't care.
Be cold and distant to them, it will teach them how to behave."

So, when some of her playmates came near her, Iddo looked at them so
coldly and disagreeably that they turned back with a shrug of their
shoulders, and warned their friends to have nothing to do with her, for
she was quite impossible.

So poor Iddo was left severely alone, and began to repent that she
had not listened to her mother's advice. The lovely flowers which had
attracted her were all beginning to fade, and she made a sorry picture
with her gloomy expression of face, and the faded flowers in her hair
and on her dress. Then she rose, and began to try and find Aimee. Aimee
surely would not desert her like the rest of the people, for she was
her chosen friend. Where could she be? Iddo had been so full of chagrin
at the behaviour of the others that she had not noticed that her friend
had disappeared, and now looked about her anxiously.

Suddenly she caught sight of her in deep conversation with one whom
Iddo recognized at once as being a pilgrim to the Radiant City. She
was walking fully armed, and Iddo noticed that behind her trotted
Madam Vanity, but that the pilgrim would have nothing to say to her.
Other enemies were also doing what they could to annoy her, but she
perpetually pulled out her sword and they fled. Aimee was walking by
her side, looking up at her with admiration, and as Iddo neared them
she heard her say:

"Why are not all pilgrims to the Radiant City like you? I have just
been with one who was so ashamed of being a pilgrim and a soldier, that
she hid her sword within the folds of her dress."

Iddo noticed that at Aimee's words, Love of Admiration, who had been
trotting by the side of Madam Vanity, peered up into the pilgrim's face
trying to attract her attention, but her efforts were in vain, for the
girl turned her face away as she spoke in a low voice to her companion,
so low that she could not catch her words. But Aimee's remark had
caused a flush of shame to rise on Iddo's cheeks, and though she
dreaded to hear any more, and felt that she had no business to listen,
she gave way to the temptation, and drawing nearer heard her friend say
softly,

"You almost persuade me to be a pilgrim to the Radiant City." At that
Iddo turned away. She could bear it no longer. If only she had been
braver and had confessed her King, what might not have happened! She
forgot at the moment that she had not entered Achshaph at the command
of the King, and that while not travelling on the right path, it was
not likely that she could do the King's work. She forgot this, and was
filled with remorse at the thought that another had succeeded where she
had failed. So depressed was she that she longed to get out of the Land
of Enchantment as soon as she could, and began looking about for her
armour. But she was not allowed to be alone. Jealousy had followed her
and now came forward.

"Even your friend," he whispered, "has forsaken you."

Iddo felt vexed with his remark.

"I want to get out of this land," she said quickly, "and shall find my
way better if left to myself."

"It is extraordinary that Aimee has forgotten you so soon after all her
profession of friendship," whispered her companion.

Iddo did not answer, but her eyes grew angry at the thought of the
girl's desertion.

"I don't suppose," added Jealousy, "if you meet her again that she will
care at all for you, as she is evidently quite taken up with her new
friend."

"Oh can't you leave me alone, I'm miserable enough without your talk,"
cried Iddo, who had forgotten by this time that she had a remedy close
at hand in her sword.

"Of course," continued her companion, "you have not a chance. You will
never be her friend again."

And at those words the girl flung herself on the ground and sobbed.
Jealousy, because he had not been worsted at once, but had been
listened to and talked to, had won his point, and had worked Iddo's
feelings up to such a pitch of anger that she almost felt that she
hated Aimee. How long she sat sobbing and rocking herself to and fro
on the ground, her heart filled with the thoughts that Jealousy had
planted there, she did not know, but at last feeling exhausted and a
little frightened lest she should not find her way out of Achshaph,
she rose and took to looking for her armour in earnest. It was only
then that she discovered to her great distress that the flowers that
now hung about her were dead, and had stained her dress with their
colours. She took them angrily out of her hair and waistband and threw
them away; but though the flowers were gone the stains still remained,
and she wondered ruefully what her mother would say when she saw her.
And from her mother her thoughts flew to her King. How she must have
grieved Him, how disappointed He must be in her!

Suddenly she fell on her knees and clasped her hands, crying for
forgiveness and help. And no sooner did she cry than a bright angel
came to her aid, and taking her by the hand lifted her up and led her
to a fountain that was close beside her, and in which she washed her
dress of its stains. Then silently the angel showed her where she could
again find her armour, and clad her with it, and so once more ready for
her journey to the Radiant City, Iddo found herself on the right path
and before long was folded in her mother's arms.



CHAPTER IX.

A FIERCE CONFLICT.

After their journey through Achshaph Amer and his friend Heman passed
through a time of rest, peace, and joy. Their path led them beside the
green pastures and still waters, and though both of them had their hand
on their sword ready to fight the enemy at a moment's notice, they were
for a time left in peace.

Many a lesson did Amer learn from Heman, lessons of patience and
humility; though if Heman had been told what his example was doing for
his young friend he would have been surprised indeed. This humility
was one of the chief marks of the King's servants, for they knew that
every virtue they possessed, "every victory won, and every thought of
holiness," was due to the King's presence—and to Him alone.

The braver the soldier, the more conquests he had over his foes, the
brighter he kept his breastplate, the more humble he became, and the
less inclined he was to speak of himself or of his attainments.

There were some with whom Amer came in contact who surprised him
with long stories of their prowess, of the help they had given to
strangers on the road, of the victories they had obtained over Temper
or Discontent and other enemies; but he began to notice that when they
spoke much about themselves, he often met them again on the road in a
very sad condition, as they were an easy prey to the many enemies that
were always on the watch to take some mean advantage of the pilgrims.
Besides, Amer, knowing what bragging had done for him, could not but
fear for them.

The two friends rested in the green pastures and drank deep of the
still waters, and so their strength, which had been much tried
during the fierce battle of the way, was renewed, their shields and
breastplates shone brightly, their shoes were easy to their feet, and
their helmets covered their heads from the heat of the sun.

But the soldiers of the King never have much time to rest, and Amer
began to notice that every now and then Heman's hand went to his sword
suddenly, as if he felt an enemy near him. The lad would have liked to
have asked him what enemy was annoying him, but his companion was a
silent man, and never cared to talk of himself; indeed Amer had noticed
that when the conversation came round to something connected with his
friend's own personal history, he visibly shrank. The lad was also
aware that he knew very little of the inner history of his friend, and
that many an enemy met Heman of which he (Amer) was unconscious, so
that occasionally he was startled by an exclamation at his side.

Once when he had imagined from the radiance on his friend's face that
he was having a time of peace, the lad was surprised at noticing
a sudden change of expression crossing it, as Heman said sternly,
speaking to some invisible foe,

"'Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy: when I fall, I shall arise;
when I sit in darkness, the Lord shall be a light unto me,'" and at
the same time his sword was plucked out of its scabbard and held up in
a threatening attitude. After these encounters with his foes Heman's
shield blazed with light, and a brightness from the Radiant City played
across his face.

Amer himself had an easier time of it, and he supposed that the
probable cause was, that being somewhat weak and unstable, the King had
surrounded him with his hosts to protect him from the enemy that was
surely on the watch.

It was just as they left the green pastures and still waters, that
Heman and Amer caught sight of a sad looking little figure a few yards
in front of them. It was that of Iddo. She was walking in a dejected
attitude, and apparently unaware that just above her was an angel with
a drawn sword, warding off an enemy who was doing his best to get her
into his clutches.

"Iddo," said Amer, "where is your mother?"

The child was too sad even to show pleasure at the sight of her old
friend.

"Mother is in the Valley of Pain," she answered, "and the valley
sometimes leads to the dark river, and I am afraid."

"Fear not little sister," said Amer, "wherever your mother is she is
not out of the keeping of the Great King. Neither are you. Do you know
that an angel is guarding you while your mother is away. Do not you
feel his wings?"

"Ah!" said Iddo, "I do not deserve the guardianship of the good angel.
I wandered out of my path into the Land of Achshaph, and nearly forgot
my King there, and it was only a short time after I left it that mother
had to go into the Valley of Pain; and I cannot bear to think that
I made some of her days unhappy while I was wandering away. I am so
miserable that I feel to have no strength to fight my enemies."

"What enemies, have been worrying you?" asked Amer.

"A little family clad all in grey, called the Morbids, have been
dodging my path and have done all they could to impede me; and no
sooner had they left than I found that one who is near of kin to them
was following me, a much worse enemy, called Depression."

"I know the fellow," said Heman.

"I could only get rid of him by crying perpetually to the King for
help. And then no sooner had he left me than a worse enemy still beset
me."

"What was his name?" inquired Amer.

Iddo shivered.

"Oh! I dare scarcely think of him," she said, "he had a terrible face,
and the first moment I saw him I felt sure he would overcome me. His
name was Doubt, and he began by asking me if I thought the King could
possibly love me as He had sent mother into the Valley of Pain."

"And what did you say?"

"I did not answer at first, but began to wonder if the King had
forgotten me. And then we had a talk and all that the enemy said
frightened me so that I lost courage, and when he hit me I fell to the
ground and did not try to hit him back."

"But did you not cry to the King for help?"

"No, I forgot to do that. But that kind old man Chisleu passed by my
way and cried to Him for me. I cannot think how I could ever have
disliked Chisleu or talked evil of him. He could not have been kinder
if he had been my father, and if you say there is an angel walking
beside me I owe that I expect to his cries. And I owe much to you too,
dear Amer," she added looking up at him with a brighter face, "for
already I feel happier. But I do not deserve to have you or to have the
angel."

"Little sister," said Amer, "where is your Guide Book?"

Iddo fumbled in her pocket and at last drew it out. It did not look as
if it had been much used.

"Mother has always used hers," she said, somewhat shame faced, "and I
have never looked much at my own."

"Dear child," said Heman, who had been listening in silence to the
conversation, "perhaps your mother has been taken from you for awhile
to help you to read the Guide Book. It is never safe for a pilgrim,
though she may have the best parent possible, to depend upon her
mother's study of the Guide Book instead of her own. You did not know
that in the Book it is written:—"

"'When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me
up.' You need not have feared, or have doubted for a moment the love of
the King for you. And as for forgetting you, why, a sparrow does not
fall to the ground without Him knowing it."

"Then will the King never forget me?" asked Iddo, comforted.

"Your mother would forget you sooner than the King, my child."

And before long the mother and child had met again.

Belthiah said little about her experiences to her friends, but that
she had passed through deep waters could not be doubted from her whole
bearing, and that in the Valley of Pain she had had communion with her
King, was also evident, from the radiance that lighted up her face when
His name was mentioned in her hearing.

"Little Iddo," she said softly, "you need fear nothing if you have the
presence of the King with you. I have found my Guide Book true."

"What does the Guide Book say about the Valley of Pain, mother?"

"'When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and
through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest
through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame
kindle upon thee.' 'Yea, though I walk through the Valley of the shadow
of Death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy
staff they comfort me.'"

"But," said Iddo, "we do not think we shall have to go through that
dark valley, mother, we hope that the King will come for us instead of
our going to Him."

"I hope so, Iddo, and if I do not live to see that day I trust that my
child will."

When Amer's path diverged again he found himself toiling up a steep
piece of hill, somewhat weary. He had however gathered strength from
the rest in the green pastures, and steadily made his way among the
rocks and stones, walking carefully.

At the steepest point he saw a vision that dazzled him and made him
think he was dreaming. Just in front of him was Gabrielle, dressed in
white, and looking as she had looked on that evening so long ago in
the Dark City. When however she turned towards him he saw that she was
changed. She looked older, but her charm for him was as great as ever
and he sprang to her side.

"Gabrielle!" he cried, "how came you here?"

"By a short cut," she answered lightly, "and not through the East Gate
at all. I climbed over the wall of the City and have come in the hope
of finding you."

"But are you then on the way to the Radiant City?"

"Certainly not," she cried, "I do not look like a pilgrim, do I?"

Amer looked at her. Her eyes were full of mocking merriment and her
mouth was hard and satirical. He was at once aware that there was no
mark of the King upon her brow.

"I want you to come back with me," she said, "surely you must be tired
of your journey by this time, and we are tired of being without you. I
miss you more than I thought I should."

Amer standing looking upon her felt his old love for her welling up
in his heart. He had tried to put the thought of her away from him
for long, as he found that whenever he indulged in idle dreamings the
enemy took advantage of him, specially a very formidable enemy named
Jealousy, whom he had met more than once. He had imagined that by this
time Gabrielle had forgotten him, and he had done all he could to
banish her from his thoughts. But now that she stood before him in her
beauty, notwithstanding the new look in her eyes and a certain hardness
about the mouth, he found his love for her was still as strong as ever.

"Come back, dear Amer," she said, holding out her hands to him, "give
up the Radiant City."

"You ask an impossible thing," he answered looking at her steadily.

The very fact of his determination made her feel that he was all the
more worth winning.

"Have you forgotten the day," she said softly, "when you told me that I
should be your Radiant City?"

Amer turned pale.

"I would do anything in the world for you but turn back," he said
gravely.

"You won't do just the one thing I ask," she said pouting, and she
looked so pretty and so much like the Gabrielle whom he had loved so
devotedly that his heart beat quickly, and he could scarcely restrain
himself.

"I love you as my own soul," he said fervently.

Gabrielle, aware of the advantage that she was gaining, smiled.

"No, you don't," she answered lightly, "you love your own soul better
than me."

At these words Amer's hand flew to his sword. He suddenly felt that the
enemy was using the lips of the one he loved best in all the world to
tempt him. Could it be the Devil himself? The words in the Guide Book
which had perplexed him at first, but of which he had been gradually
learning the meaning, flashed across his mind:—

"For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against
principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of
this world."

"Get thee behind me," he cried suddenly, and turning round he expected
to come face to face with an enemy he had not before encountered; but
the foe was invisible.

"Ah! I see," said Gabrielle, "you are as mad as ever! We should never
suit. We are made of different stuff;" then she added in a softer tone
of voice,

"If you turn back with me, who knows but that one day I might set out
on the journey with you?"

For the moment her companion hesitated, then he said:

"If I were to turn back with you you would not be likely to go forward
with me! The only hope is for us to be walking both the same way."

"It would tire me to death," she said, "no, I must make up my mind to
do what my father is urging all the time and marry Desmond. I only
wanted to make quite sure that nothing would make you change your mind
and purpose before I gave my answer. Good-bye."

As Amer watched the vanishing figure of Gabrielle, the great enemy, who
has taken captive many a poor soul, sprang upon him and pierced him
with poisoned darts. But, looking again and again towards the Radiant
City and crying out in his agony and pain to its King, the lad kept his
ground.

Harder and harder grew the fight, each gripping each with all the
strength they possessed, and neither giving way for a moment. But the
King was on Amer's side and there were more with him than against
him, so though the fight lasted so long that he felt as if he was in
a terrible nightmare and would never awake, the enemy, being resisted
resolutely, began to lose heart and finally withdrew with many a bad
wound. And Amer, the conqueror, fell down faint and almost done to
death. But tender hands ministered unto him and sleep overtook him,
sleep such as the King gives to His beloved. He awoke at last with some
words of the Guide Book ringing in his ears.

"'He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; He that keepeth thee will
not slumber. . . . . The Lord is thy Keeper.'"



CHAPTER X.

THE PASSING OF HEMAN.

The next time that Amer came across Heman he was struck by a new
expression on his face: there was a brightness that he had not noticed
before. "I am drawing near the River," he said in an awed whisper, "but
I have the support of my King."

"Not yet, Heman, surely not yet," said Amer sorrowfully.

"Yes, lad. If I am not mistaken the River is near, and the last
conflict with the enemy," he added, slowly, and as they turned together
the next corner of the road, there loomed before their eyes a dark
valley and at the end of the valley a river.

Amer's path lay along the side of the river for a time, but Heman's
ended at the brink.

The lad trembled as he walked by his side, but was astonished to notice
a joy on the face of his companion not at all in keeping with his own
feelings; but looking far away beyond the river, he caught sight of a
wonderful shining light from the Radiant City, and noticed that his
companion's eyes were fixed steadily upon it.

Then suddenly without warning, what seemed like a dark cloud, came
between Heman and the City.

"Ah," he groaned, "it is the enemy; pray for me, for I feel to have no
strength for the last conflict. Cry to the King and cry loud for help:"
and then Amer saw, as if in a dream, the cloud form itself into an army
of dark figures, as if the Devil and his angels were in league to do
all in their power to wrest this good soldier from the King, and he
remembered the Ambassador's words,

"Some are fighting up to the very end."

As the lad cried aloud to the King for his friend, he noticed that at
the edge of the river there appeared a cross which flung its shadow
over Heman, and to which again and again he turned and clung. And every
time he clung to the cross or got within its shadow, the powers of
darkness which were surrounding him drew back as if they had received
a wound. At these times Amer became aware, that even nearer than the
evil spirits, who were trying to do their utmost to tear the fainting
soldier from the cross, there was a band of bright angels supporting
him. At last, when he swooned, and would have been drowned in the deep
waters, these bright spirits carried him tenderly in their arms to a
spot in the river, where a radiant figure stood, with outstretched
hands, and the hands had the marks of having once been pierced with
nails: while across the river came the sound of music, such as Amer
had never heard nor dreamed of, and the song of a multitude of voices
welcoming the warrior home.

Then the lad fell on his knees and worshipped.

"Ah," said a voice by his side, "I am too late to see the passing of
one of the bravest and best soldiers that I have known," and Amer
turned to see to his comfort, the figure of the Ambassador, whom he had
never thought to meet again.

"Sir," said Amer, pale and trembling, "does the great enemy always
attack the King's soldiers so fiercely at the end?" and he related
how harried had been the last moments of Heman and with what a fierce
conflict he had had to engage.

"Nay lad," he said, "but it does not altogether surprise me. The braver
the soldier the harder the fight, and the enemy made one last effort
to do what he has failed to do for so long. But as a rule the passing
into the Radiant City is peaceful and bright. I have known soldiers who
have sung with joy as they have reached the river, and who have been
surrounded with a wall of fire so that the enemy could not reach them.
The King knows each one so thoroughly that He will never let anyone
be tempted above that he is able, 'but will with the temptation also
make a way of escape.' And think of the reward that good soldier is now
getting: his affliction was 'but for a moment,' and worketh for him, 'a
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.'"

"I fear the River," said Amer, shivering, for his path still lay
through the Valley of the Shadow.

"Nay lad, fear not," said the Ambassador. "The King does not send you
help to cross it till the time to cross it comes. Has He not promised
to be with you? And how do you know that you will have to pass through
the River at all? The King may come in the clouds first to take His
people Home. If I'm not mistaken," he added, "Depression is at your
side, take out your sword, lad."

And the Ambassador was right, and Amer found that in wielding his
sword, Depression departed, and that when his enemy had departed, he
began to think of the light of the City on Heman's face, of the song of
welcome he had listened to, and looking up to his King, he said, "'What
time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.'"



CHAPTER XI.

THE DARK FOREST.

"'What time I am afraid, I will trust.'"

These words were continually in Amer's mind during the next part of his
journey, for he found his way led him into a gloomy forest, and looking
down its long dark avenues, for a moment he hesitated.

It was indeed so dark that he wondered if it could be the way intended
for him to tread; he wondered still more as on entering it fearfully,
he found he could not see any distance before him, but looking down at
his feet he saw that there was no mistake about it. His path lay before
him, though he could only see one step at a time. He buckled his sword
tighter around him and made sure that all his armour was in the right
position, and with a brave heart walked boldly into the still deeper
recesses of the forest.

For a short time he was comforted by the fact that far, far away,
he caught a faint glimmer of light which he knew must come from the
Radiant City; but after a time even this faded, and he felt himself in
total darkness.

A terrible silence pervaded the place. Not even the flutter of a bird
among the trees nor the sound of the faintest breeze. It was as if he
were in a dead world.

The perspiration stood out on his forehead and his hands trembled as he
gripped his sword. So appalled was he at the darkness and silence, that
he dared not even call aloud, on the chance that there might be someone
near who could come to his aid. The sense of utter loneliness amazed
him. He had experienced nothing like it before. Loneliness and darkness
appalled him, fearfulness and trembling came upon him, and horror
overwhelmed him.

Suddenly, as faint with forebodings, he slowly and painfully made his
way, seeing only one step at a time, some words from his Guide Book
flashed across his mind like a sunbeam from the Radiant City.

"'Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of His
servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? let him trust in
the Name of the Lord, and stay upon his God.'"

"'What time I am afraid, I will trust,'" he cried, and the very fact of
breaking the silence by that cry, gave him courage and comfort.

Many a time after this, during that dark journey, he called aloud to
his King, and when he did so, he was conscious of a Presence quite near
to him, of a Companionship that made his heart burn within him, and in
the consciousness of which he was able to face the horrors of darkness
that seemed likely to overwhelm him.

But at times even the sense of the Presence seemed to be hidden from
him, and he had but to find comfort in the fact, that, the King had
promised to be with his servants unto the end, that though unseen and
unfelt, He could not be far off, so he cried out in the words of the
Guide Book, many of which he knew by this time, by heart,

"'Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in
me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise Him, for His Presence is
salvation.'"

At last, as he neared the end of this part of his journey, he became
aware that a glimmering of light could be seen in the distance, and
that with every step he took it became brighter, till at last, through
a vista among the trees, he caught sight again of the Radiant City,
looking brighter and more dazzling than it had ever looked before. At
the sight of this he fell on his knees and worshipped his King Who had
brought him safely through the darkness.

Then he rose and looked around him. Surely now his path was to lead him
on and upwards, higher and higher; surely for him the darkness was past
and over. He looked about eagerly for his pathway, and to his amazement
found it led into the forest again, though by another way.

"Alas!" he cried, "my strength will fail me. I dare not encounter the
horror of darkness again." So depressed was he that he sat him down
under the shadow of a rock, and hiding his face in his hands he groaned
aloud. For a long time he sat there, and as he rested, he fell asleep
and dreamt.

The King stood before him; not as he had often thought of Him, radiant
in power and might, with a beauty unspeakable and dazzling in its
glory: but with a crown of thorns on His head, with pierced and
bleeding hands and feet, with a face marred by suffering and sorrow.
But, notwithstanding His bleeding feet and hands and His pierced
brow, His eyes were directed towards a little wandering lamb who had
strayed beyond the fold, and lay bleating on a thin ledge overhanging
a precipitous cliff; and as He looked He moved towards it, though
the thorns and prickly bushes at His feet opened the wounds afresh.
Although the cliffs were almost impassable and the danger great, the
King never hesitated; leaning over the awful abyss, He reached down
till He grasped with His bleeding hands the little lamb, and lifting it
up, sheltered it in His bosom.

Then Amer awoke.

Had it been a dream or had it been a vision? Whatever it was, it
contained a lesson for him which changed his whole view of his journey.
He was filled no longer with his own dangers and difficulties, but
recognized that he had been saved to serve, and that the very reason of
many of his experiences through which he had passed, was not merely to
make him more fit for the Radiant City, but that he might be able to
sympathize with other travellers and help them on the way.

On learning this he rose. But for him the darkness was lightened by
many a glimpse of the Radiant City, and he found the forest silent no
longer.

As he made his way along his path he constantly met other travellers,
faint with fear or oppressed by the enemy Depression, or Despair, and
he cheered them so that they had the courage to meet their foes in
battle, and to overcome them.

To Amer's great surprise he met the last person whom he would have
expected to meet in such a place.

He came upon a man lying prone upon the grass. At his first look at him
he thought there was no life in him, but on coming closer he discovered
that it was Chisleu, faint and weary. His face had lost its energy, and
he had no words even with which to greet Amer. He looked at him with
sad and dreary eyes, so unlike his former self, that the lad almost
doubted if it could be he.

"Chisleu," he exclaimed, "is it you?"

But Chisleu did not answer, he still looked wearily up at Amer without
a word. Then, noticing compassion written large across his friend's
face, he groaned.

"Friend," said Amer, "are you in pain?"

"Aye, aye," answered Chisleu, "I'm in pain of body and mind. I'm in the
dark, friend, in the dark."

"And not only in the dark," said Amer, glancing about him, "but in the
hands of Despondency, Depression, and Despair."

"What, what," cried Chisleu, excitedly, awakened out of his torpor, and
aroused to action, "do you mean to say it is the work of the enemy?"

"Surely, what else could it be?"

"I thought," said Chisleu, "the King had forgotten me."

"It is not the King who has forgotten you, but the enemy who has
thought of you. The King never forgets His own. Had you been looking
around you instead of giving up as if all were lost, you would have
recognized it as the work of the three enemies which I now see hidden
among the trees."

"Ah!" sighed Chisleu, "you do not know the terrors of this forest, I am
overwhelmed by them."

"Friend, I know even too well," answered Amer, "I have been in it a
long time."

"It is a place of horror and the darkness of death," said Chisleu.

"And I should be in the same state as you at this present moment," said
Amer, "had it not been for the help of my King."

"And yet," said Chisleu, raising his head to look more earnestly at
him, "you look as if you were upheld. Have you really experienced such
horror as I have?"

"Such darkness that even now I scarcely dare to think of it. But since
then I have seen a vision of the King which has turned my darkness into
light. I think I can even thank Him now for the lessons He taught me
in the darkness. But come! I will help you to rise, and if the enemies
attack you again, I will add my sword to yours. I do not wonder that
they met you by the way, Chisleu, and were so determined to overcome
you. It was only natural that such a good brave soldier, who is always
on the look-out for those who are in sorrow or need, should be attacked
by the enemy. You have done too much good for him to forget you, or to
leave you alone. As for me, I have only just learnt that I am saved to
serve."

"Ah, friend, you little know me," sighed Chisleu, "the mistakes I have
made! and the way I have judged far better people than myself, and have
tried to set them right according to my own judgment! Nay, I felt sunk
so low and that I was of so little good on the road, that I feared my
King had forgotten me, when I found myself in such a dark place. But,"
he added, rising, "if you are right, and this misery comes from the
enemy, and is not that I am forgotten in the Radiant City on account of
my sins, I will take courage."

"I understand now," said Amer, "why my way led me again into the
forest. The King was thinking of you, friend, and sent me to help one
who in the past has helped me."

"Helped you!" exclaimed Chisleu, astonished, "nay, lad, I remember
nothing of the kind. I am a good-for-nothing fellow who meddles with
every one I come across, thinking to do them good. I am the fool who
steps in where angels fear to tread."

"Had it not been for you," persisted Amer, "I might still be in the
City of Achshaph. You were the one who first tried to arouse my
conscience and to make me see my danger. But come, we must not linger."

So these two brave soldiers buckled their swords closer and set out
side by side, as long as their path lay together, to fight the enemy
and to help the wounded. And many a one had to thank their King
for them, and called them both by the name of Ahiezer—Brothers of
Assistance.

At last the forest came to an end, and their ways parted.

Once again in the broad sunshine Amer breathed in the fresh air with
delight and gratitude. His way led through fields full of brightly
coloured flowers. The air was laden with their scent, and vibrated
with the song of birds. Having so lately emerged from such a dark and
dreary passage, the sunshine, the sounds, and the scents, filled him
with delight, and that which rejoiced him still more was the fact that
his path lay up the side of a hill, and every step he took found him
higher, in fresher air, with a clearer view of the Radiant City. He had
the joy also of meeting his old friends Belthiah and Iddo, who, after
welcoming him, looked earnestly in his face.

"Amer," they said, "you have grown into a man since last we saw you.
There are marks of victory and strength on your face. You have passed
through some great experience."

"I have been in the dark forest," he answered gravely, for even now the
remembrance was painful to him, "and I found light in the darkness."



CHAPTER XII.

DANGEROUS HEIGHTS.

Amer's path did not lay long beside that of his friends. He parted from
them at the top of a beautiful green hill, dotted over with flowers.

He had been climbing ever since he had left the dark forest, but now
as he looked up and saw the towering mountains before him, the green
hill dwindled to a valley in his estimation. Stern rocks and steep
precipices confronted him, as after waving his farewell to his friends
whose path still lay along the gentle slopes, he eagerly set out alone
again on his journey.

Where his path would lead him he did not know. He only knew he was
on the way to his King, and instead of having to walk through the
darkness, he was to scale the heights, and somewhere, far, far above
him was the Radiant City.

He opened his Guide Book to make quite sure of the way, and though
within its pages he found words which strengthened him and encouraged
him, he also found a warning which he pondered over for some time.

"'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.'"

Clasping his Guide Book in one hand and his sword in the other, he
continued to mount. The way at first was not difficult. It was a
gradual slope by the side of high cliffs, and occasionally out of
the rock there flowed past him a stream of cool water, with which he
quenched his thirst. The scenery was magnificent, but all the time he
felt conscious, that though the enemies of the road had as yet made no
sign of their presence, they were not likely to be far off, so that it
was not wise to loiter on the way.

As he ascended higher the path became steeper, the scenery more awful
in its character, but the air was exhilarating. Frowning precipices
confronted him, masses of rocks piled one on the top of the other rose
before his view, deep gorges and chasms lay beneath him. Wherever he
looked he was fascinated by its grandeur and awed by its impressiveness.

Higher and higher his path led him, till he felt himself to be at so
giddy a height that he trembled, though rejoicing.

He remembered when he had first started out on his journey, mounting a
hill and crying out in his exuberance of spirits and pride,

"'I shall never be removed: Thou Lord of Thy goodness hast made my hill
so strong:'" and he recollected how the words had scarcely left his
mouth, when the enemy, Spiritual Pride, in all his grand trappings, had
accosted him and led him to what might have been his ruin. How soon he
had had to change his cry and say:—

"'Thou didst turn Thy face from me and I was troubled.'"

The remembrance of those days, together with the warning he had read
in his Guide Book, kept him on the watch, and forbade him thinking of
his own strength or ability. And whenever he was tempted to think that
he must be a brave soldier to have been led by this path, he put the
thought away from him; he knew when such thoughts crossed his mind that
the enemy was near.

At last, at a giddy height he came to a standstill, discovering that
his path lay across a narrow bridge which spanned a deep, dark gorge,
so deep and so dark that Amer could not see the bottom.

The bridge was nothing but a natural arch of rock, about a foot wide,
with no protection on either side. At so giddy a height was it that he
nearly fainted at the sight. It seemed to him that it was impossible
not to fall, and to cross it was to court death. Moreover as he stood
leaning on his sword at the edge of the gorge across which he had to
go, he became aware that the rocks and cliffs were riddled with caves,
and far down below he caught sight of small figures moving in and out
of them, figures which, as his eyes became accustomed to the dim light,
he saw were clad in darkness and gloom.

They were in a state of excitement, as if preparing for a great event,
for they were running to and fro, intent on some business. It would be
into their care he would be hurled were he to lose his footing.

Looking still more steadily down, he became aware of what looked like
a regiment of armed soldiers about half-way down the cliff, and their
armour he recognised as that of the soldiers of Spiritual Pride, red
and gold. These were not busy as those further down seemed to be, but
were standing perfectly still, with bows and arrows in their hands, the
arrows being directed towards the narrow bridge across which Amer's
path lay.

At the sight his courage failed,

"I must perish! I must perish!" he cried, while the veins stood out on
his forehead like cords, so great was his fear and anguish of mind.

At these words he suddenly felt his ankles twitched and on looking down
he beheld his old enemies, the Morbids, clinging about him. But with a
sudden angry blow from his sword they fled. He would have nothing to do
with them.

He looked around for a way of escape. Could he have missed his path?
Was there not the choice of an easier road? not perhaps so honourable
but less terrifying by which he might avoid the bridge? But no! There
was no sign of any other way but that which he felt he could not
possibly take.

Then he bethought him of his Guide Book. Was there any word therein
which might comfort him in this great strait? And there he found that
instead of one passage there were many which seemed exactly to fit his
need: they were as follows:—

"'Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God:
I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold him
with the right hand of my righteousness.'"

"'I will guide thee with mine eye.' 'Looking unto Jesus.'"

"'My strength is made perfect in weakness.'"

As he read, his courage returned to him, and he prepared for the effort.

Fully clad in the King's armour he set his foot on the bridge, and to
his comfort he noticed that right across it there was flung the shadow
of a cross, and that every step he took placed him more within the
shadow which wrapped him round like a wall. He was conscious at the
same time of the noise of arrows whizzing fast past him. Some indeed
were so well aimed as to light on his breastplate and shield, but
glanced off leaving him unhurt. Others fell thick around his helmet so
that he was almost deafened by their noise, and had it not been for the
fact that he knew he was enwrapped by the shadow of the Cross, would
so have unnerved him, that he must have fallen. For there were not
only the poisoned arrows of the soldiers belonging to Spiritual Pride
falling around him on every side, but there was the dark abyss below
him, in which he knew the allies of Despondency and Despair were making
ready and preparing for his fall.

Moreover whenever he thought of them or for a moment looked down, he
tottered. He found his only safety lay in looking towards the Radiant
City, where dwelt his King. And whenever he directed his eyes upwards,
he was conscious of a wonderful peace stealing over him, peace even in
the midst of hurling darts, and the hisses of the arrows striking his
armour.

So full was Amer of gratitude and thanksgiving to the King for
preserving him in his great danger, and so conscious of His Presence,
that he had not seen a small band of pilgrims awaiting him on the other
side of the bridge, and was taken quite by surprise, when, on arriving
in safety on firm ground, his hands were grasped enthusiastically,
and words of welcome were showered upon him. So little had he thought
of his own courage or ability in passing unscathed through the darts
of the enemy, and so full had he been of thoughts of his King, that
when he heard the exclamations of wonder at his prowess from those who
gathered around him, he began for the first time to think of his own
part in the matter.

The pilgrims, who had been led by a less conspicuous path, and had
arrived just in time to see Amer, notwithstanding the many darts from
the enemies below which were being hurled at him, calmly walking with
his eyes raised towards the Radiant City across the dangerous pass,
fell to praising him and congratulating him, and among their voices
Amer recognised those of Belthiah and Iddo.

"Dear Amer," cried Iddo, clasping his hand within hers and looking at
him with eyes that shone like stars, "we are proud to call you friend.
How much you must be thought of by our King to have been led by such a
path, so high and so dangerous. I am glad that you are my friend."

"You are an example to us all," said another. "Oh that I had more
courage and more faith. We shall not forget what we have seen to-day."

"How was it," asked a third, "that you walked so straight and did not
falter? I know few who could have crossed unscathed as you have done.
The height alone is enough to have made any man giddy and lose his
head."

"It was no doing of mine," said Amer, but the praise was sweet to him.

He had not seen some half-dozen of the soldiers of Spiritual Pride,
having been foiled of their endeavour to bring him to ruin while
crossing the bridge, leave their posts and begin hurriedly to scale the
rocks so as to meet him as he landed in safety on the other side; and
he did not know that the thoughts which began to course through his
mind at the words of his friends, were in reality small poisoned darts
thrown by these same enemies.

Meanwhile he stood listening to his new and old friends'
congratulations, with a sense of pleasure: and so well did his enemies
do their work that he gradually began to talk to his friends of
his sensations when on the bridge, and with a comfortable sense of
superiority gave helpful advice, as he thought, to those around him who
might be called upon to endure a similar experience. Indeed he began
to think of himself as a hero, and as his path lay for some time in
the same direction as that of many of the pilgrims, he found himself
listening with interested attention to the talk of some who were behind
him and who were making him the subject of their conversation. In fact
he became greedy of human praise, and was quite vexed with one of the
pilgrims who had all the time maintained silence.

This pilgrim was a man some years older than Amer, who often looked at
him earnestly but did not add one word of praise to those which were
being showered upon him. Amer noticed too, with chagrin, that this man
took pains to walk continually by his side, which effectually prevented
others, who were greater admirers, from getting near him.

At last so earnest was the man's look and so grave, that Amer felt
impelled to enquire as to its cause.

"Friend," he said, "may I know your thoughts?"

"I will give them if you wish," was the answer, "but I fear they will
not be such as you are accustomed to hearing. Nevertheless, I take
such an interest in you and am so anxious that you should in no wise
disappoint our King, that should you desire it I will tell you what is
in my mind."

Amer, having by this time become accustomed to praise, changed
countenance, and an expression which till now had been foreign to his
face crossed it, but he answered,

"I am ready to hear."

"It is sad," said the man slowly, "how one pilgrim can hinder another.
These fellow soldiers around us have, it seems to me, been used by the
enemy to your hurt."

"Indeed?" said Amer, coldly.

"Friend," continued the man, "you did not see what I saw, the soldiers
of Spiritual Pride scaling the cliffs and take their position by your
side."

Amer looked round sharply.

"I see no sign of them," he said.

"Nay, but do not you know by this time, that those who they attack are
very often the last to perceive their presence."

"Well," said Amer, "I do not know after all, even if what you say is
true, why I should be so surprised. They generally attack the bravest
soldiers of the King."

The man looked at him sadly.

"Disappoint not our King," he urged. "He has done so much for you
in saving you when in such peril; I pray you to keep humble, and to
remember that you owe all your safety to Him and not to your own
prowess."

"You speak truly," said Amer, in a somewhat superior tone of voice.
"No one knows better than I, that great truth; but I think perhaps you
forget that it may dishonour the King as much to deny what He has done
for you—the courage He has given you, the wisdom He has imparted to
you—as to speak too much of it."

The man who was old enough to be Amer's grandfather did not resent
the sermon that had been delivered with a certain amount of conceit.
But he was silent for a moment. Then looking quietly with his clear
penetrating eyes at his companion, he said slowly,

"'Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall,'" and with
the words he left Amer and followed his own path which at that moment
led away from that of the other pilgrims.

Amer looked after him with mingled feelings of vexation and respect.
Then remembering the words just spoken, turned him about to see if he
could detect any signs of his enemies. But they had carefully hidden
themselves.

His sober reveries were disturbed by the voice of one of the pilgrims.

"We are thankful that our path leads us the same way as yours for a
time, as we feel we have the advantage of your company. You have had
so much more experience than we have that we know we shall be safe
following your example and advice. No doubt you will be able to point
out dangers in the road and will be the first to detect the presence of
the enemy."

The words which would have filled Amer with pleasure a few moments
before, had now rather the opposite effect, because of the conversation
which had so lately taken place.

"Nay friend," he answered in a depressed tone of voice, "I do not see
that my example is worth much, neither am I capable of giving you any
better advice than others."

"It is only your humility that makes you say this," answered his
companion. "I have always known that the bravest, noblest, most
courageous of the King's servants are the most humble;" and at these
words the other pilgrims, Belthiah and Iddo among them, drew near, and
asked him for his experiences and for instruction.

Amer found it a much pleasanter occupation to listen to them than to
the warnings of the stranger. But he did not know that as he talked,
the expression of his face gradually altered, and the light from the
Radiant City became dimmed to him. He was now full of himself, and
talked freely about his experiences on the road; and the enemies which
followed him just out of sight, but near enough to throw their darts
through the chinks of his armour, which was beginning to hang about him
loosely, laughed to themselves. The rule, which they always looked at
before they started forth to warfare, "Get the man to talk of himself,"
had been most successfully obeyed.

As the pilgrims turned a corner of the road they came in sight of a
child sitting alone, and crying.

A short time ago Amer would have gone to his aid at once and befriended
him, for was he not one of the Brothers of Assistance? But now he
looked around and at his glance one of the company took the matter in
hand.

"It is as well," thought Amer. "That is a work anyone can do, it does
not require talent nor any special capability to attend to or help a
child. Anyhow it is not my work, as it would be a waste of my powers.
My business is to lead others: all these people are hanging on my words
and I must not disappoint them."

The people who thronged around Amer were not all of the same position
of life. Some of them wore more costly garments than others, and their
manner and conversation proved them to be superior in culture and
intellect.

An enemy with whom Amer had had to do while staying in Achshaph, took
advantage of this fact to tempt him.

"It will be to your advantage," he whispered, "to make much of these
influential people."

Amer did not recognize the voice of the enemy, so his sword lay idle
in its scabbard, and he began to pay more attention to the cultured
pilgrims than to the humbler ones among them. But at times he felt
uneasy, and certain words he had read in the Guide Book recurred again
and again to his mind: "'My brethren, have not the faith of our Lord
Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect of persons.'"

"But," whispered the enemy, when he found Amer thinking of these words,
"to be popular with these influential people means that you will
attract a crowd to hear your good advice, and so it will help rather
than hinder the King's work." And so, for awhile, Amer was noticed to
spend much of his time with them, to the neglect of the poorer among
the pilgrims, and so well did his enemies do their work, that he was
quite unconscious that the Radiant City was growing dim to his eyes.

But the young girl who had stayed to succour the child was before long
seen hurrying after him with a face full of joy.

"Oh how good it was of you," she cried to Amer, "to let me do that bit
of work. The poor little boy was sick and suffering. As I tended him
and tried to dry his tears, a bright angel came from the King to take
him to the Radiant City; and," she added in a soft, awed tone of voice,
"the angel gave me a message from the King."

"A message?" repeated Amer.

"Yes," said the girl softly, "a message straight from the King Himself."

"What was the message?"

"' Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my
brethren, ye have done it unto Me.'"

Amer was silent and ashamed, while a sudden craving for his King's
approbation took possession of him, and made him realize for the
first time that the Radiant City had almost faded from his sight and
that he was out of touch with it. It was with a start that he noticed
its dimness. Was the stranger right then? Had he through pride and
carelessness drifted into the hands of the enemy? He grasped his sword,
which for some time had hung idle by his side, and cried out to his
King.



CHAPTER XIII.

THE CROSS IN THE VALLEY.

It was with grief that the band of pilgrims watched Amer out of sight
as his path diverged from theirs.

"But," they said, "we could not expect to have his company long. The
King has other plans for him than to help and lead such a small band of
pilgrims."

"Have you noticed," said one of them, "that his advice has not been of
late so ready for us, that he has grown graver and sadder?"

"Yes," answered his companion, "he seemed to lose his zeal and his
assurance, and to be weary."

"It is tiring climbing to the heights," said a third, "as for me I
would rather be led through the valleys. I like lowly paths best."

"Anyhow," said another, "we are saved the enemies that often attack
those whose path leads them to the peaks. We are not so strong and
brave as Amer, and would not be able to overcome them as he has done."

But Amer himself, as he began to descend into the valley through which
his path lay, was filled with sadness.

Depression walked by his side, while the family of Morbids held fast
hold of his ankles so that his footsteps dragged heavily. He had no
courage to fight them or to resist them. So far away seemed the Radiant
City and his King that he felt it was almost impossible to look up, and
his path lay down, down, down, into the Valley of Humiliation.

He began now to remember how that good soldier, Heman, had shrunk away
from anything in the form of praise, how he would never talk about
himself, and was always on the watch against the enemy Pride.

He remembered how on the occasion when Belthiah had been asked the
secret of her peaceful aspect, Heman had hastily looked around him in
search of the enemy, warning her that he was listening for her answer.

He remembered too how, when imprisoned in the cave belonging to
Spiritual Pride, he had read the rules that were to be followed by his
soldiers, and that one of them was to persuade the man they were in
league against, to talk of himself.

He recognized, too, the fact, that all the time he had been deceiving
himself into believing that he was praising his King he was praising
himself, and he recollected the words of the old pilgrim which at the
time they were spoken had filled him with vexation: "Disappoint not our
King."

And had he not disappointed Him? Ah! how much!

As Amer descended into the valley, filled with these thoughts, a great
hunger took possession of him, a hunger for the Presence of his King
and for His approbation. After all, what did the flattery of man matter
in comparison with one word of praise from his King. All those who had
hung upon his lips, listening to his advice and to his experiences, had
probably by now forgotten him: while the King, Whom he had neglected,
was still loving him and thinking of him.

In the old days, Amer might have fancied that his sin had robbed him
of the love of his King. But he knew his King better now, and he had
read in his Guide Book, that "'neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor
principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor
height, nor depth, nor any other creature'" could separate him from
the love of his King. So he knew that He must be still looking down
in love and pity upon him; although his sins had come as a cloud to
hide Him from his sight. And at the thought of His love, of His tender
compassion, of His patience with him, notwithstanding his many falls,
and the constant disappointments he had caused Him, a great longing
took possession of his soul, and he cried out in the words of the Guide
Book,

"'My soul thirsteth for Thee, my flesh longeth for Thee in a dry and
thirsty land, where no water is.' 'As the hart panteth after the water
brooks, so panteth my soul after Thee, O God.'"

At last, as he reached the bottom of the valley, he perceived a cross
standing in the midst of the path along which he had to tread, and with
a cry of gratitude he flung himself beneath its shadow, and a great
peace stole in upon him; the peace of sin forgiven.

Spiritual Pride's soldiers, who had been following at a distance,
hoping for an opportunity of wounding him again, and anxious lest
Amer should altogether escape them, at the sight of the cross and
of the prostrate figure of the young soldier at its foot, felt that
their power was almost gone, and leaving only one to keep watch at his
elbow, and to give them a warning should a likely chance occur again of
wounding him, turned back to worry and annoy some other poor traveller.
But the man they had left behind felt his post to be a discouraging
one, as Amer, on rising to continue his journey again, was on the
watch, so that Spiritual Pride's emissary could not get near him.

Once however while Amer was resting on his journey, the enemy managed
to gain his ear for a moment.

"How changed you are," he whispered, "you are greater than you have
been before, because you are humbler. You never talk of yourself to the
passers-by, but always manage to turn the conversation when it is about
you. You are getting as humble as Heman."

Amer was rather drowsy when these thoughts entered his mind, but
suddenly he recognised the source from which they came, and rising,
fully awake again, he dealt such a blow at the enemy that he fell at
his feet, dead.

Amer's love for his King had so grown, that now his one great longing
and aim was to please Him, and remembering his King's words to the
young girl who had tended the little boy across the dark river, and
finding them written in his Guide Book, he looked out for the weakest
and smallest of the pilgrims that came across his path, to help and to
succour them. The people whom others passed by and neglected, became
now dear to his heart as he recognised that in serving them he was
serving the Great King.

And these did not often happen to be the noblest, the bravest, or the
most interesting among the pilgrims, but just the reverse. Many of them
would have been wholly uninteresting to Amer, had it not been for the
fact that they belonged to his King, and were dear to Him.

"Amer has changed," said one of his friends who had listened with such
rapt attention to his words of advice before he had trodden the Valley
of Humiliation. "He does not attract crowds around him as formerly;
do you not remember how they would walk by his side to catch every
word that fell from his lips, even the noblest and the greatest of the
pilgrims felt they could learn from him, and followed him."

"You are right," answered the person addressed, "he certainly has not
such an audience as formerly, and is not so popular; that is to say
people are not drawn to him as they used to be, but I am not sure that
they are not drawn more to their King after talking with him."

"Do you think so?" said the former speaker questioningly.

"I have noticed," answered the other, "that many, after talking with
him, soon leave him, but go away with their lips moving in prayer, and
their eyes raised to Heaven."

"So that in thinking less of him, you believe they think more of their
King?"

"I am sure of it: I happened to walk beside him a short part of the
journey not long ago, and I was struck, not by what he said, but by
what he did. He never seemed to think of himself, but was always on the
look-out to help others, but in such a quiet way that had I not been
watching him closely, I should never have noticed it. It had the effect
of making me go and try and do likewise."



CHAPTER XIV.

THE LAND OF INDIFFERENCE.

Belthiah and Iddo's path had led them for a long time across a
flower-besprinkled plain. There were no hills to mount and no valleys
to descend, and their path had for the most part been even and
uneventful.

They had not however been free from the enemy. The little sprite,
Worry, had more than once taken hold of Belthiah, and had left its
wounds visible across her brow: and his comrade, Foreboding, had
occasionally thrown her in the way of Despondency, a troublesome enemy,
whom she had to fight bravely before overcoming; but she had had
seasons of great happiness because of the conscious presence of the
King.

Iddo also had had her battles.

Indolence more than once attacked her, specially when he saw her
becoming interested in her Guide Book; for after Heman's advice not
to depend upon her mother's study of the Book, but to study it for
herself, Iddo had often consulted it: nevertheless she was by no means
well versed in it, and Indolence so constantly attacked her with
success that she made but poor progress. Neither did Discontent and
his comrade Irritability leave her alone; sometimes Belthiah looked
with anxiety at her child when she saw how easily she gave way to these
enemies.

They were about half-way across the plain when their paths met those of
another mother and daughter, with whom they joined company.

Iddo was delighted to have a companion, and the two girls for many a
mile followed their parents hand in hand.

Adin,* for such was her name, had much to tell, having met many more
people on her journey than had Iddo, and the latter learnt much from
her of which she had been ignorant. Among other things, Adin told her
that there were people who were apparently journeying towards the
Radiant City with views quite contrary to her mother's.

  * Dainty.

"Times have changed," she said, "since our mothers started on their
journey. People have come to the conclusion that much in which they
believed is mistaken; that for instance it is not necessary to be so
different to those who are not servants of the King; that certain
things are lawful which in those days were considered dangerous,
and that there are many ways after all to the Radiant City. The
old-fashioned views with which our mothers started their journey are
being more and more questioned and pushed on one side. We must move
with the times," she added.

Iddo listened astonished. Loving and reverencing her mother, the girl
resented the idea that her views could be anything but correct, and
expostulated with Adin indignantly when she termed them old-fashioned.
But by degrees she became accustomed to what she heard and began to
wonder if there might not be some truth in it.

"Do many people agree with these views?" she asked.

"So many that it is really quite peculiar to think like our mothers,"
was Adin's answer; then with a laugh she added, "there are a few
however who think my friends and I are very far gone in the wrong way.
We met an old man on the road, who walked some distance with us, and
when he heard one of these new thinkers discussing the subject with
mother, he cried out indignantly,"

"'Madam, I hear the enemy's voice in that of your friend. Beware, I
beseech you.' And then he turned round on our friend and rated him
soundly for what he had been saying, crying,"

"'It is false, it is false, there is one way and only one for each
servant of the King, and the path is straight and narrow. The only safe
plan is to believe in the Guide Book and not in the imagination of
man.' He was so excited," added Adin, "that I was almost amused."

"Was his name Chisleu?" asked Iddo.

"Ah! then you know him?"

"Yes, he was so good to me when mother was in the Valley of Pain, when
I had hard work to fight my enemies," said Iddo.

"Yes, he is a good man," said Adin, "one could not doubt that, but oh!
how narrow! He is even more narrow than mother; apparently he thinks
no one can possibly be in the right path unless they entirely agree
with him in every detail. Even mother does not believe that. She thinks
there are certain truths that are quite necessary for us all, but that
truth may be many-sided, and though there is only one way, the King
does not lead each one of His servants by exactly the same path."

"But they must all have the King's mark on them," said Iddo.

"Yes," said Adin, "so mother thinks:" but that she was not very decided
on the subject herself was evident from her hesitating answer, and Iddo
began to feel a little perplexed and bewildered.

"Anyhow," added Adin, "people have extraordinarily different views
about the Guide Book; some seem to be doing all they can to convince us
of its untrustworthiness."

"Yes," said Iddo, "I shall never forget how I felt when I heard that
for the first time. But you have not lost your faith in it have you?"
she asked anxiously.

"Oh no," answered Adin, "but somehow I don't seem to think of it quite
in the way that I did. You can't help being a little affected by things
you hear."

Iddo suddenly looked around her. She had fancied she had heard a
laugh close at her elbow. Was it the enemy? If so he had made himself
invisible; but she felt they were on dangerous ground.

They had not noticed that their mothers were by now out of sight and
that they had swerved a little from the path. They were so busy talking
over these subjects, that it was some time before they realized with a
start that they were no longer following their parents, and that they
were passing some gates that led into a thickly populated town.

"Oh," cried Iddo, in distress, "we have lost our way!" But Adin
was fascinated with the crowds of people that she saw through the
gates that were standing wide open. She had not seen so many people
congregated together for long, and they were apparently light-hearted
and not troubled with the enemy, as they were laughing and talking as
if they had not a care.

"Let us go in," she said, "they cannot be dangerous people or allied
with the enemy, as they are not even noticing us, but look thoroughly
happy and unconcerned. Come, don't be a coward," for Iddo had drawn
back.

"But," she said, "I am quite sure mother has not gone that way, I
should never find her there."

"How do you know?" said Adin, "why we are nearly sure to come across
some other pilgrims who will do their best to help us to find our
mothers. There is really nothing to fear."

Looking through the gate Iddo recognized the face of a pilgrim she had
met in the way.

"It must be all right," she murmured as they passed through, "as she is
here. Perhaps mother may after all have gone this way."

To Iddo's astonishment she recognized many a one whom she had noticed
standing listening to the preacher on the heath, and there was
something about them that did not exactly re-assure her; they seemed
almost to be settling down in the town instead of walking through it,
and what filled her with concern was the fact that as yet Adin and she
had not found a trace of their own path.

"Will you tell us the name of this place?" said Iddo to a passer-by,
who looked good-natured and kind.

"This is a town, in the Land of Indifference," he answered, smiling.

"Are all these people on the way to the Radiant City?" she asked
anxiously.

"Many of them profess to be," he answered, looking at her kindly.

"But are you?" she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Ask me an easier question," he said, and turned away.

"People do not like to be questioned," said Adin in a vexed tone of
voice, "Come, don't be so worrying, let us anyhow enjoy ourselves while
we are here. Look, there are many things to see. It must be a happy
place, as almost every one is laughing."

"I have seen quite as many people yawning with weariness," said Iddo;
but she quite forgot all the time to open her Guide Book for an
explanation of the town, and after all there was so much to be seen and
so many people to watch, that gradually the thought of the Radiant City
grew dimmer, and the enemy who had led the girls into the town, felt
he could safely leave them for a time, while he went to tempt another
traveller on the road.

But every now and then Iddo's conscience awoke, and she begged for
information of those about her.

"How is it," she asked one who had been joining company with her and
her friend, "how is it that people seem so light-hearted here?"

"Because they don't worry about things they cannot understand," she
answered lightly, "what is the good of worrying?"

"But don't they ever think of the possibility of not reaching the
Radiant City if they stay too long in this place?" she asked.

"But why should you think that even now they are not on their way?"
answered her companion. "I take for granted when I think of it at all
that I am going there. We do nothing very wrong in this city. I do
not think that the enemy is particularly busy here. We are thoroughly
steady and respectable and good-natured. What more can you expect of
us? Pray don't get it into your head that we are going to be left for
ever outside the Radiant City."

"But," said Iddo, perplexed, "I thought every one who journeyed there
had to put on armour. And you have none."

"This is such a peaceable place my dear, that we do not need armour.
Indeed, some time ago a man passed through this town fully armed, he
would not turn to the right hand or to the left. His path he said lay
right across, and though we could not but respect and reverence him, as
the light of the Radiant City was full on his face, when he had gone,
we could not help smiling. What good was his armour to him here? No
enemy was likely to attack him. We told him this, and his answer was,
'It is written in the Guide Book, "Be sober, be vigilant, because your
adversary the devil, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour."' We
asked him what guise the enemy was likely to put on to entrap unwary
travellers."

"What did he say?" asked Iddo.

"He told us the name of our land would answer that question, and then
opening his Guide Book as he walked, he read aloud, '"I know thy works,
that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So
then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue
thee out of my mouth. Because thou sayest, I am rich, and increased
with goods, and have need of nothing; and knowest not that thou art
wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked; I counsel thee
to buy of me gold tried in the fire, that thou mayest be rich; . . . .
Behold, I stand at the door and knock."'"

"Do you know the name of this man?" said Iddo, "it sounds like my
friend Heman."

"I do not know his name, as he would not stop; even while he was
consulting his Guide Book he was moving on for fear the enemy should
attack him and keep him longer in the land. One could not but admire
him as he was in such deadly earnest, and one could not but reverence
him as he walked, as his whole bearing made one recognise that his King
was great, and that the King's business required haste, as he told us.
Moreover he had much tact, and those who spoke to him always listened
respectfully, and indeed such was his influence as he passed through,
that more than one followed him out of the town. I felt sure he would
never be content to go out of it alone. In fact he was in it but not
of it. But on thinking about it afterwards one could not but wonder
that he thought it all of such vital importance. There are other ways
of getting to the City besides his. As for me I prefer moving slowly.
Enthusiasm does not appeal to me."

"Then the pilgrim did not think it right to linger here?" asked Iddo.

"His path lay right across you see," answered Adin quickly. "We are
looking for our path and are as likely to find it in the town as out of
it," for Adin had got imbued with the spirit of the land and felt it
mattered little that they should find their path at once; why need they
worry?

But Iddo, though outwardly satisfied with this argument, was inwardly
anxious. The thought of her mother would intrude upon her even in
the midst of some pleasurable excitement, with which they were well
provided in the town. It is true at times a kind of lethargy crept over
her and she would laugh with the rest, as if she had not a care or
trouble. But she began to wonder why it was that her enemies apparently
left her alone. Her sword was very rusty and the rest of her armour
dim, but Adin assured her that they were not needed in this place.

But Iddo was unhappy. She began to pine for the sight of the Radiant
City and for travellers who were definitely walking there, and above
all things she grew home sick for the conscious Presence of the King
Himself.

It is true that she had not enjoyed much of His Presence at any time,
for she had depended so much upon what her mother had told her of
Him, that she had not sought earnestly enough to know Him herself.
But now she began to long for Him, and looked eagerly at the faces of
passers-by, hoping that she might find at least one who was bound for
the Radiant City.

But again and again she was disappointed. The Land of Indifference
was the most unlikely of any place to come across those who had made
any definite decision to go to the Radiant City, and many whom she
questioned had really not thought about the matter at all.

"The subject does not interest me," they said, looking at her eager
upturned face with surprise. "We are here to enjoy ourselves, and have
no time to think of such matters." Others would answer her questions
with the words, "'Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.'"

Iddo began to wonder if she could possibly persuade Adin to leave the
crowded town in search of their paths to the Radiant City. She felt
she had not the courage to make the step alone, besides which she
found Adin's companionship very attractive, and knew that unless she
could take her friend with her she might never see her again. But Adin
was far too engrossed with all she saw and heard to wish to leave her
present quarters.

"There is plenty of time," she said, when Iddo timidly tried to
persuade her that the only right and wise course to take was to leave
the Land of Indifference. "Of course I suppose we shall eventually have
to go, but I don't mean to go yet."

"I cannot feel at home here," sighed Iddo.

"Not at home?" cried Adin, "why what do you want? After all, you are
not my sort, I fear. You are naturally dependent on others, and do not
rejoice in your freedom. You should not have left your mother. I would
try and find her if I were you, and then follow her step by step. You
will never be happy if you don't," and Adin gave a somewhat scornful
laugh.

"I dare not go and I dare not stay," murmured Iddo.

"That is just what I say," said Adin, "you have no courage to carve out
a line for yourself."

"But," said the girl, stung to resistance, "it has not been a question
of my carving out a line for myself. It has really been with me a
choice between following my mother and following you. And I do not know
why I chose to follow you. My mother never led me astray."

"You had better go," said Adin, "and I will look for another friend
who is bolder and more courageous, and who is not always thinking
about uncomfortable things like you are. Besides I have come to the
conclusion that I have made a mistake about myself all my life. The
views you love are cramping. I like to be free. I am much more suited
to the Land of Indifference than to the Radiant City. And I really
doubt if I have ever been on the way there. I have just followed my
mother, that is all."

"Then," said Iddo, "you mean to stay here? and to give up all thoughts
of the King and the Radiant City?"

"How do you know there is a King and a Radiant City?" said Adin.

"The enemy must be very near to make you say that," said Iddo gravely.
"Oh, don't give way to him. I am quite sure he is seeking your ruin."

"The enemy! Nonsense, child! Why, I find no one believes in the Devil
now. The very mention of him raises a smile. Indeed, if you spoke to
the inhabitants of this land as you are speaking to me, they would
think you were daft. No one who has any learning ever thinks of him. He
is a myth."

"Have you learnt all this while you have been here?" said Iddo, sadly.

"Yes, and a great deal more; much that convinces me that it is quite
mad to give up the pleasure of this place for the dream that you are
following."

"Then," said Iddo, "this shows me how wrong I have been to have come
here at all. If they say such things in this land it is no place for
a servant of the King," and there was a firmness in her tone of voice
and a look of resolute determination in her eyes, which Adin had never
thought to see in her timid little friend. She liked her all the better
for it.

"Put your scruples away," she urged, "and let us enjoy ourselves. I
shall miss you if you go."

"It is so hard to leave you in this town," said Iddo, with tears in her
eyes, "if only you would come too. Think what it will be to be shut out
of the Radiant City at last!"

"There you are again! In such dead earnest! They are quite right here
when they say that people who are on the way to the Radiant City are so
terribly tiring. They will not take things as they find them or leave
people as they find them, but will always be trying to save them from
what they look upon as their doom. Why not let people believe what they
like? So long as they are happy, why disturb them?"

"Of course you feel like that if you don't believe in anything
strongly," answered Iddo, "but when you are sure that there is a
Radiant City, and that those who will not listen to the Voice of the
King inviting them there, will be shut out at last, it makes all the
difference."

"Go, then, little believer," said Adin, "and try and save others, but
don't save me, I beg you;" and with a laugh and nod the girl turned
away, and Iddo felt that the last word had been said between them.

She had no friend now in the Land of Indifference, but stood alone. A
feeling of great isolation took possession of her; but she knew it was
through her own carelessness and fault that she was in such a plight,
and she determined at once to leave the place. She had some difficulty
in finding her way back. The streets were intricate, and so crowded
with men and women that her progress was slow. But no sooner had she
begun to retrace her steps in earnest, than she fancied she saw a
glimmer of light in the far distance which she knew must come from the
Radiant City.

But the enemy who had been watching her for some time, fearful now of
losing his prey, began to dodge her steps, and the family of Morbids
clung around her, so as to impede her progress.

"There is no use trying to get out of the land," they cried, "you have
got too used to its ways. You will not find your mother, you don't
deserve it. You have been playing in the enemy's country all this time,
and now expect the King to welcome you back. He will never do it. It
will take years to get rid of the marks of the land upon you," and by
other words they did all they could to drag her back and discourage her.

Then the far worse enemy, Doubt, met her just as she was passing
through the gate, and hurled his darts at her face, that for a time she
was so blinded by him that no sight could she get of the Radiant City,
and she began to wonder if Adin's words were true, and she had been
following a mere dream—a mirage. But the very fierceness of the enemy's
assault made Iddo cry the louder and the more persistently to the King,
and though at first no answer seemed to be vouchsafed and she was only
conscious of the sharp arrows of the enemy, she would not give in. The
King was her only hope, and she knew He would help her.

"If I die," she cried, "I will die crying to Him, for mercy and help."

At last above the storm of the battle she heard a still small voice,
saying,

"'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out,'" and on looking
up, she caught sight of a bright light shining down upon her, the light
from the Radiant City. Then she fell on her knees and worshipped her
King, and the enemy slunk away.



CHAPTER XV.

THE SINGERS.

Iddo had not gone far on the path, which, when out of the Land of
Indifference she found lying before her, when she heard singing, and
turning a corner she came in sight of a band of pilgrims going her way.
The very sound of their voices inspired her with courage and happiness,
and, as she followed closely behind them she heard the words of their
song:

  "O happy band of pilgrims,
     If onward ye will tread.
   With Jesus as your Fellow,
     To Jesus as your Head."

  "O happy band of pilgrims,
     Look upward to the skies,
   Where such a light affliction
     Shall win you such a prize."

And as their voices ceased another chimed in,

  "My merry heart is springing,
     And knows not how to pine,
  'Tis full of joy and singing
     And radiancy divine."

The words were new to Iddo, but the voice she recognized at once as
that of Chisleu.

"Oh, how glad I am to see you," she cried, making her way towards him.

Chisleu turned upon her a face full of calm joy. There was such a
change in it that had it not been for the voice she would hardly have
recognized it. It was a gentle, chastened, yet radiant face.

"I did not know you sang," said Iddo.

"I have only lately learnt," he said, "I met these good people, and
when I said I could not join them in their songs, they pointed out to
me that as there was to be so much singing in the Radiant City it was
as well to learn on the journey. And it is astonishing how it helps the
journey, it seems another thing to me. And moreover I find it does not
only make things easier, but in the Guide Book we are commanded to sing
and be joyful. I never realized that before."

"Does the King then so much like us to sing that he has written about
it in the Guide Book?" said Iddo.

"Yes, I find He has. I had no idea that it was my duty to be happy as
well as my pleasure. But I find it written there,"

"'Rejoice evermore.' 'The joy of the Lord is your strength.' 'Is any
merry? let him sing psalms.' I only wish I had known this before."

"Why?" asked Iddo.

"For two reasons. One reason being, that, as I say, it makes all the
difference in the journey, as the enemy does not like to hear it and it
keeps him away. There is nothing that baffles him more I believe than
to hear the soldiers singing one of the songs of the Radiant City. And
when I have an idea he is near and wants me to listen to him, I cry,
'May Jesus Christ be praised,' and he slinks away. He finds the gloomy
soldier by far the easier prey, I fancy, than those who sing. Why it
has been so all along."

"How do you know that?" said Iddo.

"In the Guide Book we read about one of the armies of the Lord going to
meet a strong enemy. And it says when the Lord's soldiers began to sing
the enemy was smitten."

"And what is your other reason?"

"My other reason is that I feel I have done so much harm by my
gloominess. A lot of young people whom I might have helped have run
away when they have seen me coming, just because I felt it my duty to
pick holes in them and to be stern, and to judge them. Now if they had
found me singing, who knows but they might have been helped on their
journey. Every young thing likes music and merriment. And then there is
a third reason which I forgot and which is more important even than the
others."

"What is that?" asked Iddo.

"Because a Master is judged by his servants, and a King by his
subjects. And if they see that the soldiers and servants of the Great
King of the Radiant City are cheerful and happy, they naturally think
it must be the service of the King that makes them so. Child," he
added, "I feel ashamed when I think of what people must have thought of
my King, when they heard my censorious words and looked at my gloomy,
angry face. I, of all His servants, ought to rejoice."

"Why, Mr. Chisleu?" asked Iddo.

"Why? Because He has done great things for me. I have done so much
harm on the road, made so many mistakes, even once went so far as to
doubt His love, thinking He had forgotten me, while all the time He was
looking down upon me in love and tenderness, and sent my good friend
Amer at last to persuade me of this. I, of all men, should be full of
joy and thankfulness."

"And do you think," said Iddo, "that I ought to learn to sing?"

"Aye! sure enough you should. Have you nothing to be thankful for?"
Even as he spoke, a little enemy crept out of the grass at his feet and
looked at him.

For a moment Chisleu was taken so much by surprise, as he was not
expecting one, that he started. Then he recognized him as one of a band
of rebels whose names are Conceit, Self-Satisfaction, and Complacency,
and at once he drew his sword, while at the same time he sang "'May
Jesus Christ be praised,'" and at the sound of his singing and the
sight of his sword, the enemy slunk away.

"Do you see that fellow?" asked Chisleu of Iddo, "I know him and his
comrades of old. I think he has been particularly troublesome since
I have learnt to sing, as I don't remember meeting him so often in
the old days. It is because he hates me singing the King's songs. I
expect," he added, "he looks out for every occasion to turn my song to
his own advantage. I see I must be on the watch against him."

"I did not see the enemy," said Iddo, "I wonder why he attacked you
while you were helping me."

"Perhaps just because I was helping you: and after all," added Chisleu
thoughtfully, "if ever there is a chance for the enemy it is when we
are talking of ourselves. We have to do it occasionally, I suppose,
but very occasionally, and then we must remember that we do it at our
own peril. Sometimes it is a duty to brave this danger for the sake of
another; but often we think we are braving it for another's sake, while
all the time it is for our own sake, that we may be thought well of, or
in a spirit of self-congratulation. You see the words of the Guide Book
are true,"

"'The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.'"

"But," said Iddo, "you always seem to me so good, surely there is no
need for you to be so watchful."

Chisleu's face changed, as he turned and looked upon her with sternness.

"My child, don't do the enemy's work. He failed just now, and so he is
trying to catch me through your lips. Never flatter."

Iddo was startled, and could not help comparing the intense earnestness
of the soldier of the King, with the utter indifference she had
been impressed with in the land she had left: and at the same time,
Chisleu's face having regained its calm joy, she could not but contrast
the peace and happiness written so plainly there and in the faces of
the other pilgrims, who were walking so merrily on in front of her,
with the artificial merriment of that land.

Everyone there had seemed to her, the more she knew them, to be making
amusement their work rather than their recreation. She was sure it was
sometimes real hard work. And when the excitement was over she had
often seen a look of weariness on the faces of those who had worked the
hardest to procure the fun.

Iddo found that the pilgrims' songs were not all directly about the
Radiant City and its King. They sang about the beauties of the way,
of the flowers the King had raised to cheer them, of the trees He had
planted to give them shade, of the changing sky overhead, and the
sweet-scented winds about them; of the stars and sun the King had
created to give them light on the way, of the ever-moving sea, of which
they often caught glimpses, of all the wonders of nature; they sang
also of the beauty of love, of acts of heroism, of thoughts too deep
for words, and when Iddo expressed some surprise at what she heard,
Chisleu reminded her of the words in the Guide Book,

"'The works of the Lord are great, sought out of all them that have
pleasure therein.'"

Iddo was much struck by noticing the great change in Chisleu, how his
voice had softened, and his mind expanded, and how, instead of thinking
that every one was in the wrong, he constantly confessed that he was
in the wrong himself, and imputed good motives to people where others
found it difficult to do so.

But every now and then the old enemies got the better of him; he would
suddenly irritably interrupt the pilgrims in their songs, with the
complaint that they were singing out of tune, or too fast for the
newcomers, or had put the wrong tune to the words. And now and then his
irritability would become infectious, so that he would suddenly awake
to the fact that he had been the means of discord.

But whenever this happened he confessed his sin so humbly, that the
enemy, who had done what he could to make him inconsistent, had to
retreat, with the knowledge that Chisleu's quick confession of sin,
instead of resulting in confusion and in making an occasion for other
enemies to run in, had been the means of shaming some of the pilgrims
who had given way, and had caused them to resist the enemy.

"Mr. Chisleu," said Iddo, "I want to learn to sing. Will you teach me?"

"Teach you! Nay, you must go to the King Himself for that. We can only
sing when He teaches us."

When Iddo next met her mother she had learnt to sing, and her mother
thought her voice the sweetest she had ever heard. She was not alone in
her opinion. Many a one was cheered on his way to the Radiant City by
the sound of it. Some who had fallen on the road, being hard pressed by
the enemy, and the victims of Despondency or Despair, lifted up their
heads, as Iddo's voice caught their ears, while others who were on
the eve of wandering from the right path, resolutely turned away from
the enemy who was tempting them. For Iddo sang of the wonderful love
of the King, Who had died for them, and was even then watching them,
and of the glory and brightness of the Radiant City to which they were
travelling. And she sang moreover of the Coming of the King, to which
she was looking forward now with ardent expectation. And the words she
sang were these:—

  "Thou art coming, oh my Saviour,
     Thou art coming, oh my King,
   In Thy beauty, all resplendent,
   In Thy glory, all-transcendent;
     Well may we rejoice and sing;
   Coming:—In the opening East,
     Herald brightness slowly swells;
   Coming:—O my glorious Priest,
     Hear we not Thy golden bells?"

One day in the midst of her singing, Iddo felt her mother, with whom
she was walking hand in hand, step forward alone, towards a river
running at the foot of the hill, which the girl had not noticed. A
sudden panic of apprehension seized her.

"Mother, Mother," she cried: but even as she spoke, her mother turned
round with a radiant smile on her face, and, waving farewell to her
child stepped into the waters with a song on her lips.

Iddo sank on to the ground, her song silenced.

For a time she lay quite still, her face hidden in the long grass, her
hands outstretched in misery. Then suddenly across the hills came the
voices of the pilgrims singing:—

  "Oh sweet and blessed country,
     The home of God's elect!
   Oh sweet and blessed country,
     That eager hearts expect:
   Jesus, in mercy bring us
     To that dear land of rest;
   Who art, with God the Father,
     And Spirit, ever bless'd."

Gradually the words of the beautiful song brought comfort and healing
to her heart, and before long her voice was heard, sweet and true, as
she walked through the Valley of the Shadow, for she could be silent no
longer, as the King Himself had taught her to sing—even songs in the
night.



CHAPTER XVI.

THE BRINK OF THE RIVER.

Amer's path had now for some time led him by the banks of the river
that flowed through the Valley of the Shadows. In its shadows he found
many waiting for the King's guard to take them across, and going in and
out among them, Amer did what he could to remind them of the King's
love and of His mercy.

He had not much time to think now of his own dangers and difficulties,
indeed he had to leave the keeping of his soul to his faithful Creator
and King; and he was surrounded with an invisible army of angels, who
warded the enemy off again and again when he was engaged with those he
was seeking to comfort.

Every now and then, however, he found himself gripped by the enemies
who are peculiarly busy with those soldiers who are spending their
lives in working for others.

When Amer saw some of the pilgrims, as they passed through the valley,
paying but scant notice (because wrapped up in their own soul's
welfare) to those in hopeless misery who were on the borders of the
river, he found himself again and again passing a hard judgment on
their conduct, and criticising their selfishness, forgetting that there
had been a time in his own history, when his thoughts had been so
engaged with the health of his own soul, that he had had no eyes to see
the needs of others.

Then there were some who did what they could to help, but whose help
was so unwise in Amer's eyes, and so far from being profitable, that
the enemy, Impatience, took hold of him, and pushed him to the ground
more than once. He had in fact, constantly to be reminding himself of
the words in the Guide Book,

"'Judge not, that ye be not judged,' 'Who art thou that judgest another
man's servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth.'" And when he
felt conscious of these enemies he could only cry to his King, as he
drew out his sword, and his cry was always heard and answered.

Amer's voice was the last that many a pilgrim heard this side of the
dark river.

He had been in the Valley for some time when he suddenly heard his name
spoken by a voice that made his heart beat, and he saw, standing on
the very brink of the river, Gabrielle, but so altered that he hardly
recognized her. Indeed, though she looked so pale and thin that he felt
she must be very near the end of her journey, the expression of her
face was so unlike that he had ever seen upon it that he was amazed; it
reminded him of the light that he had noticed on the face of Heman as
he passed to the Radiant City.

"You did not expect to meet me on the journey," she said, as he grasped
her hands, "but Amer, when I saw you were in such dead earnest and
would not give up the Radiant City or your King even for me, I felt
there must be some truth in what others told me was a mere legend, and
I could not rest till I had set out on the same journey."

"And Desmond?" asked Amer.

"I never married him," she answered, "how could I when once I had known
you. When I told you I should, I said it out of pique, I never really
intended to, though my father did all he could to persuade me. But I
could not rest till I had passed through the East Gate. But oh! my
journey has been so short! I have had such a little time in which to
prove my loyalty to my King. Just a few short weeks! And now I have to
cross the River. How can I be sure that the King will receive me after
forgetting Him for so long? I feel the enemy Doubt is doing what he can
to wrench my soul away from Him."

Amer looked at the River and noticed that across it lay the shadow of
the Cross, as it had done during the passing of Heman.

"Dearest," he said, "you must get beneath the Cross, then Doubt will
fly from you."

"Is it there for me?" she asked faintly.

"As much for you as for the warrior who for years has fought under the
King's banner."

"Help me to get within its shadow," she pleaded: and Amer, putting his
arm around her, gently moved her in its direction, and as she stood
beneath its shadow, he saw a peace steal across her face.

"I think my feet have touched the brink," she whispered, "I wish, oh! I
wish, you were coming too."

"I will not leave you till the King has hold of your hand," said Amer,
as her head sunk on his breast.

"Are you quite sure I am under the shadow of the Cross?" she murmured.

"Yes, these are the King's own words," he answered:

"'As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the
Son of Man be lifted up: that whosoever believeth in Him should not
perish, but have eternal life.' 'Christ Jesus came into the world to
save sinners.'"

"Then He must have come to save me," said Gabrielle, but her words were
so faint that Amer could scarcely hear them.

Suddenly she raised her head from his shoulder.

"It is the King," she said, while a radiance from the City lighted her
face, "He is calling to me," and Amer, as he loosed his hold of her,
saw her step down into the cold waters and stretch out her hand to some
Invisible One.

Then, as he stood still as if turned to stone, he suddenly fell to the
ground, for an enemy whom he had never met before had fallen upon him.
Rebellion had thrown his arrow successfully at him, and now stood over
his fallen prey so that he was unable to rise. For the time his shadow
was so deep and dark that Amer nearly lost the sight of the Radiant
City: and so well did Rebellion do his work that his victim lay without
so much as an effort to rid himself of him. He could only think of the
one he had found but to lose again, and was full of hard thoughts of
the way by which he was being led. He could not live without Gabrielle,
he cried. So successfully had he hitherto managed to banish her from
his thoughts, that he had imagined that his love for her could never
again be roused to its full heat. But now that he had once more seen
her, had looked into her eyes, had heard her voice, and had found her
so infinitely sweeter than he could have pictured, he felt his will
rise up against the will of his King, and so lay unresistingly in the
grip of Rebellion. His strength all seemed to have vanished, his work
to have lost its interest, his path impossible to tread any longer.

Suddenly in the distance he heard the sound of singing.

  "If God Himself be for me
   I can a host defy."

It was the band of singing pilgrims, Iddo and Chisleu amongst them,
praising, as they passed on the heights above the Dark Valley.

Then, with a sudden spring, Amer leapt up, and drawing his sword, he
fought. Fought in the strength of his King, crying out all the time for
help to overcome. And the enemy, taken by surprise, and perceiving that
this soldier, who had looked so weak and helpless, was now resolved to
conquer, gradually drew back, till a favourable moment came to turn and
fly.

Then once more Amer took up his work in the Valley, and found that the
thought of Gabrielle having passed to the Radiant City made it seem
nearer to him than ever before, and recognized the fact that though
divided from him by the River, she was really much closer to him than
she had ever been while in the Dark City.



CHAPTER XVII.

"TILL HE COME."

Amer's path now led him across a plain, it was bare and treeless, but
every now and then he came by green pastures and still waters and was
refreshed on his monotonous journey. He was able to hold communion
too with his King, and though this part of his journey was free from
any special incident, he learnt lessons of trust and patience which
he might not have been able to learn in the stress and noise of hard
warfare. It was not long before he came to a town, the inhabitants of
which struck him as looking more miserable than those he had ever met
before.

"What is the name of this place?" he asked of one.

"It is the City of Despair," he answered, with a fierce and angry
stare. "You have but to look around you to learn its name."

And as Amer's path led him into it he was filled with horror at all he
saw.

Some were sitting by the road side with their heads bowed in their
hands, the picture of misery; others were fast asleep, and Amer
noticed that at the head and feet of these, little black imps were
sitting keeping guard, so that at the least sign of waking they might
administer narcotics and soothe them off to sleep again; some were
raging and roaring about the streets, while others looked on laughing
loudly, but their laughter rang hollow and suggested more misery than
the sobs that issued from their fellows.

Amer found he was not the only soldier of the King who had entered the
City of Despair. Some were there before him who had, like him, been
struck with its horror and misery, and were fighting with all their
might the evil spirits which were enslaving so many.

"What is the meaning of all this?" asked Amer.

"It means," said one of his fellow soldiers, "that hundreds in this
place have either not heard of our King or hearing of Him will have
nothing to do with Him; and the Devil and his angels are doing their
best to shut their ears and to lull them off into the sleep of death,
so that the Good News may never reach them. We are here, and you, my
friend, have been sent here, to proclaim the Good News and to fight the
enemy that is destroying these people, soul and body; and the fight
is long and fierce. We need to watch and we need to pray, and to hold
close communion with our King. For we find the enemy will suddenly turn
upon us and try and rend us, when he sees us bent upon destroying his
work here and that we are resolved to do what we can to liberate his
slaves. It is the greatest honour anyone can have to be led to work
in this City, for it is in the forefront of the battle. But remember,
friend, you must pray, you must pray."

Then a great yearning came into the heart of Amer to tell these people
of the King of the Radiant City, and he began to go up and down the
streets proclaiming the Good News.

Many a one looked up at him with eyes full of misery, to shake their
heads with the cry,

                  "Too late, too late!"

"Nay," said Amer, "it is the King Himself Who has sent me to you. He
would never have sent me had He not been willing to receive you."

Others told him to leave them alone.

"We do not wish to find out what we have lost: leave us alone, man, we
have chosen our path and must stick to it," while some who had never
heard of the King and His mercy, laughed unbelievingly.

"Had your story been true we should have been told about it long ago,"
they said. "Nobody ever told us. Would people who have known such good
news for years never have taken the trouble to come and help us in our
misery if they knew it to be true?"

But every now and then Amer would meet one whose eyes would follow him
with a hungry expression visible in them, as he went about proclaiming
the Good News, and then he knew that his efforts were not in vain, and
he would tell him of the Great King Who had died on the Cross to save
him and to give deliverance from the enemy.

"We will fight the enemy together," Amer would say, and he would fall
on his knees and pray.

His fellow soldiers had been right when they had told him that the
warfare would be fierce and long; it needed all his strength not to
give way, and his enemies were watching him determined to make him fall.

"Pity thyself," they would whisper in his ear, "pity thyself, you are
losing strength, the battle is too hard, others can do the work, why
put yourself into such danger?" Then Pride would murmur,

"You of all people must persevere, you are by far the most successful
worker here. No one works so hard as you, and people will listen to
you who turn a deaf ear to the other soldiers." Amer found this enemy
even more difficult to overcome than the others, and he knew him to be
the more dangerous, for if he induced him to continue his work for any
other motive than that of obedience to his King, it would be ruined.

Then Despondency would try and seize him.

"Give it all up," he cried, "it is useless, these people are too far
gone in wickedness, your efforts are quite in vain."

All these enemies attacked Amer while he was busy about his work, and
often he found when he was doing his utmost to break the chains of some
poor slave, he would receive a blow from an unseen hand, and it was
only by crying to his King fur help that he was able to overcome.

Then his fellow-workers would quite unconsciously be used of the enemy
to tempt him.

For these friends sometimes surprised him. Although called by their
King to do this work some of them seemed to look upon it rather
lightly. They did not apparently feel bound to do it with all their
might, neither did they seem to understand Amer's zeal and earnestness.

"We cannot all work like you," they would say to him, "it would be
foolish on our part if we did. We should soon break up and not be
able to work at all. We really think you tire yourself out with your
efforts, and they are often in vain."

"But the people are dying around us," said Amer, "and we are only here
to work."

"But there is no cause for such extraordinary self-denial as you seem
to think," they said. "You make us feel ashamed of ourselves. Besides
you are injuring your health. You are working far too hard." And Amer,
listening, recognized the voices of more enemies than one; but he still
worked on, and had the joy of leading many a one out of the City of
Despair into the sunshine of the road to the Radiant City.

And so he worked on, fighting, praying, and proclaiming the Good News
of the Kingdom: and as he worked a wonderful radiance began to light up
his face. It was the light of the Radiant City that lay upon it. The
people among whom he laboured became aware of it.

"I think," they said, "he must be growing like the King he is always
telling us about, Who is so loving and merciful."

And his fellow-workers noticed it and talked about it to one another.

"What a beautiful character he has," they said, "he puts us all to
shame, but never speaks as if he were the least more faithful or
earnest than we are. He is one of the humblest men we have ever come
across."

"If I had met that man some twenty years ago," said the one whom Amer
had seen with such a very miserable face, on entering the City, "he
might have been the saving of me. It is what the man does that makes me
half inclined to believe in what he says."

And Amer worked on quite unconscious of the remarks of people about
him. What, however, he was conscious of, was that every now and then
he caught a gleam of a river in the distance. At first it had somewhat
startled him, but as day by day he seemed to be drawing nearer he would
look at it earnestly. Was his time approaching to cross it?

He was very conscious now of a Presence by his side, and the
companionship of this Presence kept him in peace and joy. But as the
River drew near the enemy also approached to make one more effort to
capture this brave soldier of the King. Doubt would remind him of some
of the words he had listened to on the heath about the Guide Book, but
finding that Amer no sooner became aware of his presence than he called
upon the King for help and drew out his sword to do combat, he tried
another plan. He would haunt his memory with sins he had committed in
the City of Punon before he had begun his journey, sins which had been
forgiven years ago, questioning him as to how he dared to hope for
mercy, considering he had done things of which he was now so ashamed.

But Amer was able by this time to distinguish between the voices from
the Radiant City and the voices of the enemy, and he clasped his
breastplate the closer; besides which he noticed that the shadow of
a Cross was always at hand, and when the enemy taunted him and tried
to make him doubt his King's love and forgiveness, he flung himself
beneath it, and when fighting under its shadow he always came off
conqueror. At this time too he kept looking towards the Radiant City
with the words:—

"'I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me.'"

As he drew nearer the River he thought less about it and more of the
City beyond it. At times he almost fancied he could hear the songs of
triumph that he knew were being sung there in honour of his King; and
many a time when utterly weary he lay down to sleep, he would dream of
it, of its streets of gold, and gates of pearl, and above all of the
King, Who was the Light thereof.

When Iddo, whose path had led her with Chisleu and the other singing
pilgrims into the City of Despair, went up and down its streets singing
of the King, Amer would look up and smile, adding his voice to hers.
But when alone, the words most often on the lips of this good soldier,
were those telling of his need and of the King's power to supply the
need.

  "My Saviour I have nought to plead
     In Earth beneath or Heaven above;
   But just my own exceeding need,
     And Thine exceeding love."

Those who were with Amer noticed how full of love and patience he now
was: how the enemy, Irritability, which had so often given him a blow
on his lips, was silent: how he never judged unkindly or spoke ill of
people, but like his Master and King was filled with a consuming pity
for them.

But if his friends had had eyes to see, they would have been aware of
a crowd of evil spirits on the watch for him, who would surely have
worked him ill had he not been in such constant communion with his
King. As it was they could never get near him, for the Presence of
his King was around him like a wall of fire, and a shadow of a Cross
enveloped him.

Amer remembered at times his question to the Ambassador when he had
started on his journey, as to whether it was the lot of every soldier
to be harried at the end, as was Heman the Brave; and every now and
then, when for a moment he lost sight of his King, Fear crept up,
hoping to gain possession of him; but so used was he now to confide his
thoughts to his King, that Fear could get no more than a sudden look
at the man he hoped to conquer. Indeed, the enemies that had crowded
so hopefully around him when they were aware of how near Amer was
to crossing the River, had to be content with looking at him from a
distance, and gradually, as they noticed that the nearer he drew to the
River, the brighter and more peaceful grew the expression of his face,
they lost hope.

Then it was, that while in the act of cheering a fellow pilgrim, Amer
heard his name called, and, with the light of the Radiant City on his
brow and his King's name on his lips, he plunged without fear into the
cold waters to fall at the feet of his King.

Then Chisleu and Iddo, who had seen his passing, burst into a
triumphant song:

  "The saints of God, their conflict past,
   And life's long battle won at last,
   No more they need the shield or sword,
   They cast them down before their Lord:
     Oh happy saints, for ever blessed,
     At Jesus' feet how safe your rest."

And the pilgrims on the hill above, caught up the words and sang again:—

  "Oh happy saints, for ever blessed,
   At Jesus' feet how safe your rest."

But some there were who fell on their knees and wept, for they loved
him so.

And Iddo, seeing them, turned away with tears in her eyes, for he had
been as a brother to her. Then, after a moment, she stood erect and
strong, while the light from the Radiant City fell on her face.

"It is only till He come," she said.

"Yes, till He come," answered Chisleu, and then they both went back
into the City of Despair to work and to watch,

                     "Till He Come."



                        THE END.