of the man who was poor and sorrowful and alone, and how he loved and
was not loved again, and trusted and was betrayed, and was tempted and
drawn into the darkness, so that it seemed as if he must perish; but,
when hope was almost gone, turned again from the edge of despair, and
confronted all his enemies, and fought and conquered, the people
followed every word with great outcries of love and pity and wonder. For
each one as he listened remembered his own career and that of his
brethren in the old life, and admired to think that all the evil was
past, and wondered how, out of such tribulation and through so many
dangers, all were safe and blessed here. And there were others that were
not of them, who listened, some seated at the windows of the palaces and
some standing in the great square--people who were not like the others,
whose bearing was more majestic, and who looked upon the crowd all
smiling and weeping with wonder and interest, but had no knowledge of
the cause, and listened as it were to a tale that is told. The poet and
his audience were as one, and at every period of the story there was a
deep breathing and pause, and every one looked at his neighbour, and
some grasped each other's hands as they remembered all that was in the
past; but the strangers listened and gazed and observed all, as those
who listen and are instructed in something beyond their knowledge. The
little Pilgrim stood all this time not knowing where she was, so intent
was she upon the tale, and as she listened it seemed to her that all her
own life was rolling out before her, and she remembered the things that
had been, and perceived how all had been shaped and guided, and trembled
a little for the brother who was in danger, yet knew that all would be
well.

The woman who had been at her side listened too with all her heart,
saying to herself as she stood in the crowd, "He has left nothing out!
The little days they were so short, and the skies would change all in a