“These are only the outward crusts and shells,” she said. “We make more use of the inner essences. Those we appropriate within ourselves to bring in future time to full perfection. But these are undergoing here a perfect change from dark to light. Here is something brought to me the other day, the outward husk of marriage, that seeming bright like some pure brilliant flower at outset turned to soft dust and black decay, slipping from out the hopeful grasp. It is at present very dull and dark, with no shape and quite devoid of beauty, but with time, and the treatment we shall give it, it will alter, and when the owner sees it once again it will be a thing of rare beauty, a priceless jewel above mortal worth. Here is another that has almost come to the true length of time. You will perceive how the golden rays have become worked into it till its dull hue has changed to brilliancy. So do they all alter.” “And this music—from whence does it spring?” “It is the lonely sighing of poor prisoners—the weakening sobs, the painful gasps—yes, and those bitter cries that only spirits ever hear aright.” “Then,” said I, “you accept all failures.” “Yes,” she asserted, “but there is one great point to be remembered—they must come to us, we cannot go to them. Till they have stretched out the first weak hand in supplication, till that weak cry for heavenly help has reached our ears, we are powerless—powerless as they.” “This place contains nothing but material failures,” I continued. “What do you mean?” “I mean that failure with regard to temptation is not included amongst these.” “They are all here. When anybody having entered on the heavenly path slips down from weariness or weakness, or maybe from dejection, but with the pilgrim’s steadfastness of purpose struggles up again, we take the failures and count them to their after-glory though they must suffer at the time. Few men have ever yet reached heaven without hard falls; they are their strong experiences. On the other hand, that does not include those who are always down; the man who slips each time temptation is presented is no use to us. His vain repetitions and idle sighs affect neither himself nor us. He, as it were, would buy heaven with dross, and hire another soldier to do the fighting for him.” “I heard you speak of the heavenly, not the narrow path just now. The expression, I think, is much more suitable.” “Yes, indeed. Could they but see, it is the narrow path that ofttimes leads to hell—the narrow path of self that hides all breadth and height. Our path is not narrow, though at times it may be steep—very steep, and perhaps obscure.” We looked round for some time, learning the histories of men and women, those dark skeletons in the cupboard that sap away life and youth. Yet of all cheerful places I had ever visited this was the most so; and well it might be, such things of precious beauty were being wrought from dull wreck and despair.