our track: the copse that closes in upon the road is thick with
spears; presences that do not wish us well move darkly in the wood
and keep pace with us, and the only explanation we can give is that
we need to be spurred on by fear if we are not drawn forward by
desire or hope. We have to keep moving, and if we will not run to
the goal, we must at least flee, with backward glances at something
which threatens us.

There is an old and strange Eastern allegory of a man wandering in
the desert; he draws near to a grove of trees, when he suddenly
becomes aware that there is a lion on his track, hurrying and
bounding along on the scent of his steps. The man flees for safety
into the grove; he sees there a roughly built water-tank of stone,
excavated in the ground, and built up of masonry much fringed with
plants. He climbs swiftly down to where he sees a ledge close on
the water; as he does this, he sees that in the water lies a great
lizard, with open jaws, watching him with wicked eyes. He stops
short, and he can just support himself among the stones by holding
on to the branches of a plant which grows from a ledge above him.
While he thus holds on, with death behind him and before, he feels
the branches quivering, and sees above, out of reach, two mice, one
black and one white, which are nibbling at the stems he holds and
will soon sever them. He waits despairingly, and while he does so,
he sees that there are drops of honey on the leaves which he holds;
he puts his lips to them, licks them off, and finds them very
sweet.

The mice stand, no doubt, for night and day, and the honey is the
sweetness of life, which it is possible to taste and relish even
when death is before and behind; and it is true that the utter