wan beams of the early clay falling cross his features intensified
their waxen stillness and pallor,--the awful majesty of death was
on him,--the pathetic helplessness and perishableness of Body
without Spirit. Presently the monastery bell began to ring for
matins, and as its clear chime struck through the deep silence,
the door opened, and Heliobas, accompanied by another monk, whose
gentle countenance and fine, soft eyes betokened the serenity of
his disposition, entered the apartment. Together they approached
the couch, and gazed long and earnestly at the supernaturally
slumbering man.

"He is still far away!" said Heliobas at last, sighing as he
spoke. "So far away that my mind misgives me. ... Alas, Hilarion!
how limited is our knowledge! ... even with all the spiritual aids
of spiritual life how little can be accomplished! We learn one
thing, and another presents itself--we conquer one difficulty, and
another instantly springs up to obstruct our path. Now if I had
only had the innate perception required to foresee the possible
flight of this released Immortal. creature, might I not have saved
it from some incalculable misery and suffering?"

"I think not," answered in rather musing accents the monk called
Hilarion--"I think not. Such protection can never be exercised by
mere human intelligence, if this soul is to be saved or shielded
in its invisible journeying it will be by some means that not all
the marvels of our science can calculate. You say he was without
faith?"

"Entirely"