the sequel to his brief and wretched history! ... for this one end
he had wandered out of the ways of his former life, and forgotten
almost all he had ever known,--here was the only poor finale an
all-wise and all-potent God could contrive for the close of His
marvelous symphony of creative Love and Light! ... Ah, cruel,
cruel! Then there was no justice, no pity, no compensation in all
the width and breadth of the Universe, if Death indeed was the end
of everything!--and God or the great Force called by that name was
nothing but a Tyrant and Torturer of His helpless creature, Man!
So thinking, dully and feebly, he pressed his hand on his aching
eyes, to shut out the sight of that grim crowd of fleshless, rigid
Shapes that everywhere confronted him, . . the darkness of the place
seemed to descend upon him crushingly, and, reeling forward, he
would have fallen in a swoon, had not a strong hand suddenly
grasped his arm and supported him firmly upright.

"How now, my son!"--said a grave, musical voice that had in it a
certain touch of compassion, . . "What ails thee? ... and why art
thou here? Art thou condemned to die! ... or dost thou seek an
escape from death?"

Making an effort to overcome the sick giddiness that confused his
brain, he looked up,--a bright lamp flared in his eyes,
contrasting so dazzlingly with the surrounding gloom that for a
moment he was half-blinded by its brilliancy, but presently
steadying his gaze he was able to discern the dark outline of a
tall, black-garmented figure standing beside him,--the figure of
an old man, whose severe and dignified aspect at first reminded
him somewhat of the prophet Khosrul. Only that Khosrul's rugged
features had borne the impress of patient, long-endured, bitter