in His heaven, must not all eventually be right with the world? Be not fearful, oh, ye of little faith!"
A soft, elusive breeze that seemed to bring with it the very soul of the words, fell on the listener. Thoughts gathered that were no longer translatable into human speech—but the soul knew them. . . . At last he rose slowly, and came with many pauses down the cliffs through the lingering unearthly beauty. Each radiant day seemed like a gem he might not find again. From ledge to ledge he came, with a warm sense of comfort and healing and strange assurance springing up within him. As he descended, some lines of Scollard's drifted through his mind.
Something that transcended words had passed from the heart of the mountain to the heart of the man; ineffable peace welled up in his breast as he came at last through
