groped their way through darkness and thought it light. “Return! Return!” called the harp.

“I WILL RETURN”

And a mighty resolve came to Eline. “I will return! I will! I will!”

She remembered the king’s saying: “The children of the king are free to come and go,” he had said. “I may not keep them if they will not stay,” he had told her.

She loved him much; but the call came clear, and she dared not seek him to say farewell, lest she should be persuaded to remain.

She bowed her head and to the harper spoke:

“I will go,” she said. “I will return with you.”

Then the harp sent forth such a melody of joyous music that it echoed thrilling through the hot discordant notes of the world beyond the sunset; and for a moment a chord of harmony ran through the life of men:

“Joy unto you, men of the underworld! Joy unto you, children of sorrow! Joy unto you, sons of forgetfulness! Joy unto all beings!”

They passed out of the garden together, the musician and the soul.

THROUGH PINE FOREST

III

Westward they traveled, westward, ever westward. The way was dark and sometimes dreary, and Eline felt like one awakened from a beautiful dream before it was ended.

Through the pine forests, over mountains, in deep valleys, and by mighty streams they traveled. Ever they had the harp to cheer the way, to urge their footsteps onward. For the path was untrodden where they went.

“There is a path,” the harper said, “a pleasant path and broad, but the journey is long and we must hasten on our way. To the setting sun, to the gleaming sea, we must go; nor may we seek a beaten track lest we be too late.”

A river there was in whose waters were reflected pictures of all that surrounded them—such crystal clear reflections that sometimes it seemed as if they looked at real things in the water mirrored in the things around them.

And on the waters grew beautiful lotus-flowers, lilies with cup-shaped leaves. In the blue and white petals of the lotus also there seemed to be reflections, so clear were they. The musician plucked one of the cup-like lily-pads and filled it with the water for Eline.

The still surface of the water shone like silver in its green cup as Eline held it. Then the musician played. Soft and low and sweet were the notes of that wonderful harp. Scarcely they rippled the surface of the water, and yet they vibrated, trembled, spread, until picture after picture came to the surface of the water in colors of every hue.

Scarcely may it be told what Eline saw in the magic cup in the water of remembrance. She seemed to see herself—and yet another—in picture after picture. Now she saw herself as part of a golden sea of selves which made but one self, so lifelike were they, so glorious was their unity. Then in life after life Eline seemed to see her other selves living and loving and working, sleeping and suffering and struggling. She saw that on a day she had made her great resolve to help the world. “I will return! I will! I will!”

And now she knew what things they were she had seemed to remember in the king’s garden of delight. Joyously, eagerly, willingly, she saw that she had determined to return to earth in body after body, to help the men of sorrow who struggled and slumbered and suffered. She saw that she had before so done; that her work remained unfinished, to be begun again where she had laid it down. There was suffering shown to her in the cup; there were sorrow and grief and pain. But she saw that it must all be, and was content. For at other times she had desired just such things that she might know how others felt them, that she might help them the more with understanding. Happiness she had taken to give to others, and she must repay the debt. She saw that all things were just, and when the musician said in a low voice:

“Will you yet proceed?”

“I will!” she said.

“Then drink the cup,” he said, “Drink!”

She drained the green cup of the lotus leaf until scarcely a drop remained, and with that draught she forgot all things that had been—the garden, the king, the journey

and the vision, and the master harper—all were forgotten. Only there remained a dim remembrance as of a dream at dawn forgotten.

DOMES AND SPIRES

IV

A little ship stood by the shore of the great sea; into this Eline entered. There were other ships, some better, some worse. But somehow she knew that just this, and not another, was the ship she wanted, and none questioned her when she entered.

So they sailed away towards the setting sun.

Long was the voyage and lonely; for the seas ran high and all was dark below in the heart of the ship. Nine months they sailed on the ocean, until in the time appointed land appeared. Strange dwellings were there, domes and spires and crowded cities. With wide, wondering eyes Eline watched them as the ship passed them by in strange procession; for the men of that land were like none she knew; none of these things could she remember. For she had forgotten even her name at the river of forgetfulness, where remembrances are left in the mirror of the waters until time and their creator bring them back to life.

It seemed as though one of wise and kindly countenance held her as a little child in his arms and whispered softly, “Remember! I will return! I will! I will!” A light of happy recollection came to her and she smiled in reply. He had spoken in her own language as the harp had spoken, and strangely, strangely she seemed to see in him the harper whose music had told her of the sorrowful land beyond the sunset. For this moment, she remembered, and then the thought departed.

At first the air seemed heavy and oppressive to the wanderer; but by degrees she grew accustomed to it and even, in time,

scarcely felt it. Yet ever and again a dim remembrance of brighter, purer skies came to her. She spoke of this more than once; but others only laughed and said: “The child is