“Lead on--and down!” “But, John----” Young Jack clung tight to one of the knotted fists that hung at his father’s side--“you can’t go into Gehenna. You and I are assigned to the Fields. It is a rule here that we can go on, but never back.” “Go on--without her?” John laughed in a short, hard way. “There is no right in a rule that assigns me to Elysium and her to Gehenna. I’ll find a way to prove that one man feels responsible for a woman’s fall. Son, I am going to bring her back with me.” “If you could, John--if only you could!” Afraid, yet brave to believe in the power of his god of Earth, the boy-soul gazed into his father’s face. “You’ll look for me, John, first thing when you come back? A little way on there are bowers and villas that the shades build to live in while their eyes and minds are getting used to the Light. They leave them empty for anyone to take when they’re ready to progress nearer the Source. You’ll know the one I’m in if you listen to hear Dick sing. I’ll be waiting for you and--and _her_, John Cabot.” “Jack Cabot, until we meet again!” In time the boy had remembered his lameness, so did not plead to go along. The best way to expedite his hero’s return was to let him proceed unencumbered. Striving for courage, he watched the tall form follow Amor and Innocentia across the fields. A twitter reminded him that he was not entirely deprived. Gulping back his disappointment, he declared manfully: “We’ll get a nice place ready for her, Dick--my other mother. He says he’ll bring her back, so we know he will. John can do anything. It _will_ be fun being happy!” * * * * * Across the mystery wastes that lie between the mortal world and Shadow Land looms a redoubtable wall. Through its gateway any from Earth may pass at will. But none may return. Just within, the two head ushers slumped upon their bench and gazed over the familiar, but incogitable scene. The well-worn inward path soon divided, its lower half to drop over a declivity, whence it sloped “easily” into Avernus, its upper to wind away and away until lost in that incalculably distant glow. “Queer set this”--the first usher. “Queer is right--or wrong”--his fellow. “I’d like to know, for instance, what makes that Light.” “I, too. Can’t be either sun or moon, because it never sets.” The chief’s eyes fixed on a verdant slope, from whose hazes a female figure sped with apprehensive manner toward the base of the wall. He shrugged on seeing a unit of the boundary patrol return her into the Fields, but gently, with never a threat of spear. “One of the yearning mothers, I suppose. Strange how they’re possessed to slip back to their children!” “Children who likely aren’t wasting a worry on them,” the associate sighed. “Why won’t mothers let bad enough alone?” A wail like the lament of a lost zephyr drew their attention to the rim.