And so they went on, over The Road of Pain and Hope. Orville's feet
were weary and bleeding. His hands and knees were bruised by falls.
The adders stung him and the thorns pierced him. Cold rain chilled him
and warm blasts oppressed him. He was one great pain; but within a
voice that was his own kept saying: "I go to the Cross, I go to the
Cross," and he forgot the suffering. He thought of earth for an
instant; but the thought brought him no longing to return. His breast
was swelling and seemed bursting with a wonderful great Love that made
him content with every tortured step. He even seemed to love the pain;
and he could not stop, nor could he rest for the Flaming Cross that
was drawing him on. He longed for it with a burning and intense
desire. His eyes were wet with the tears of devotion, and his whole
being cried out: "More pain, O Lord! more pain, if only I may sooner
reach the Cross!"

But Michael tried to ease his master's burden.

At last Orville said to him: "How many ages have passed since I died?"

"You have been dead for ten minutes, sir," answered Michael. "The
minutes are as ages in the Land of Death until you reach the Cross,
and then the ages are as minutes."


IV.

They kept toiling on, but had known no darkness along The Road of Pain
and Hope. Orville's hand sought Michael's, and it opened to draw him
closer. "Michael, my brother," he said, "may you tell me why there is