"I have seen the children playing near it," said the Traveller. "When
I was a, child I used to play there. Ah, if I had only known! Well,
the past is the past."

He would have rested against a huge stone, but that the old white-haired
man prevented him.

"Do not rest," he said. "If you once rest there, you will not rise again.
When you once rest, you will know how weary you are."

"I have no wish to go farther," said the Traveller. "My journey is done;
it may have been in the wrong direction, but still it is done."

"Nay, do not linger here," urged the old man. "Retrace your steps.
Though you are broken-hearted yourself, you may save others from
breaking their hearts. Those whom you meet on this road, you can turn
back. Those who are but starting in this direction you can bid pause
and consider how mad it is to suppose that the Temple of True Knowledge
should have been built on an isolated and dangerous mountain. Tell them
that although God seems hard, He is not as hard as all that. Tell them
that the Ideals are not a mountain range, but their own plains, where
their great cities are built, and where the corn grows, and where men
and women are toiling, sometimes in sorrow and sometimes in joy."

"I will go," said the Traveller.

And he started.

But he had grown old and weary. And the journey was long; and the