"Padre!" Arthur rose, shuddering, and drew
back from the precipice. "It is like hell."

"No, my son," Montanelli answered softly, "it
is only like a human soul."

"The souls of them that sit in darkness and in
the shadow of death?"

"The souls of them that pass you day by day
in the street."

Arthur shivered, looking down into the shadows.
A dim white mist was hovering among the
pine trees, clinging faintly about the desperate
agony of the torrent, like a miserable ghost that
had no consolation to give.

"Look!" Arthur said suddenly. "The people
that walked in darkness have seen a great
light."

Eastwards the snow-peaks burned in the afterglow.
When the red light had faded from the
summits Montanelli turned and roused Arthur
with a touch on the shoulder.

"Come in, carino; all the light is gone. We
shall lose our way in the dark if we stay any