The little Pilgrim cried aloud, so that she thought the rocks must be rent by the vehemence of her cry, calling like the other, 'Father, Father, Father!' as if her heart would burst; and it was like despair to think that she made no sound, and that the brother could not hear her who lay thus fainting at her feet. Yet she could not stop, but went on crying like a child that has lost its way; for to whom could a child call but to her father, and all the more when she cannot understand? And she called out and said that God was not His name save to strangers, if there are any strangers, but that His name was Father, and it was to Him that all must go. And all her being thrilled like a bird with its song, so that the very air stirred; yet no voice came. And she lifted up her face to the watcher above, and beheld where she stood holding up her hands a little whiteness in the great dark. But though these two were calling and calling, the silence was dumb. And neither of them could take him by the hand nor lift him up, nor show him, far, far above, the little diamond of the light, but were constrained to stand still and watch, seeing that he was one of those who are beyond hope. After she had waited a long time, he stirred again in the dark and murmured to himself once more, saying low, 'I have slept and am strong. And while I was sleeping He has come again; He has looked at me again. And somewhere I will find Him. I will arise and go; I will arise and go--' And she heard him move at her feet and grope over the rock with his hands; but it was smooth as snow with no holding, and slippery as ice. And the watcher stood above and the Pilgrim below, but could not help him. He groped and groped, and murmured to himself, ever saying, 'I will arise and go.' And their hearts were wrung that they could not speak to him nor touch him nor help him. But at last in the dark there burst forth a great cry, 'Who said it?' and then a sound of weeping, and amid the weeping, words. 'As when I was a child, as when hope was--I will arise and I will go--to my Father, to my Father! for now I remember, and I know.'