Leighton looked wistfully about him. He was seized by the primitive
desire of man to leave some visible sign of overwhelming grief. His eyes
rose above the rock to the lonely tree. Grasping the ax, he climbed the
tree. High above the mountain-top he cut its stem. Then limb after limb
fell crashing to the earth until only two were left. Out one and then
the other he clambered and cut them off. The lonely tree was no more; in
its place stood a mighty cross.

From far away across the plain, John, the Courier, looked back. His keen
eyes fell upon the mountain. He stopped and stared.

"Ah, Sorcerer," he murmured, "hast thou now a heart? What power has
crowned thy brow with the holy cross? Behold! one arm points to the
rising sun and one to its setting. I shall no longer call thee Sorcerer,
for thou art become the Guide."

At the edge of the plain stretched a line of hills. Within them was a
little valley that looked toward the distant mountain. Leighton
purchased the valley from its owner, Dom Francisco, who prized it
lightly beside his vast herds of cattle.

At the top of the valley, and facing the mountain, Leighton built his
new abode, four walls and a roof of homemade tiles. When it was
finished, he looked upon its ugliness and said, "The Lord hath crushed
my heart to infinite depths. Let us call this place Nadir."