“Was he not placed afterward above the elder in the Father’s heart?” Fleury asked. “Could he not appreciate the Father’s House better than him who had not left it? Man is greater than angels--that’s hinted at everywhere in the Scriptures. Angels are unalloyed good. The man who has mastered matter becomes a creative force. All the great stories of the world tell the same story--the wanderings of Ulysses, the tasks of Hercules. The soul’s mastery of each task and escape from each peril and illusion is an added lesson--finally the puzzle breaks open. The adventurer sees the long journey of the soul, not this little earth-crossing. He sees that his misery now is but a dip of the valley--that the long way is a steadily rising road--that the plan _is_ for joy.” It came home to him closer than ever before that night. His soul had tried to express itself and ordain his higher ways these many years, but he had lost his way in the world. He perceived that all men lose their way; that he had suddenly been shaken apart so he could see. It was luck in his case--the misery at Lot & Company’s, the singing of Bessie Brealt, the unparalleled contrasts here in the open boat. But why should he be shown, and not the millions of other imprisoned men? Was this a part of the great patience of the scheme again? Would something happen to each man in due season, some force in good time to help him to rise and be free? “The man who ties himself to the pilgrim--and not the sick little chattering world creature--suddenly finds that he has but one job,” Fleury said presently. “He’s got to tell about it----” The world suddenly smote Bellair. “Why, men would say a man was crazy if he told the things we have thought this night,” he said, leaning forward. “Maybe we are a bit unsound. Perhaps these are illusions we are harbouring--vagaries from drying up and wasting away, similar to the vagaries of alcohol--doubtless----” * * * * * It was like waking from a dream--the horrible sounds now from the stern. Bellair heard Fleury’s voice. Turning, he saw Venus before anything else. It was the thought that he had fallen into the revery with, and had to be finished on the way out. Under that superb vision of morning, Stackhouse was kneeling, his breast against the rail,--bringing up to his mouth great palm-fuls of brine. 6