Then said the Wanderer: 'He is already on the verge of the abyss, on the
slope of the steep and slippery declivity; he, robed in the purple of
Power, must himself descend into the coffin!'
But the young man riveted his gaze on the magnificence of the rider, as
if absorbing the diamond glitter into the lustrous pupils of his eyes,
as in the morning they had absorbed and reflected the clear blue of the
skies. He seemed not to hear the words of his friend. When they were
earnestly repeated to him, he covered his face with his hands, and
tenderly uttered the holy name of the murdered Mother, as if the love of
childhood were upon his heart. The Wanderer pressed him to his breast,
and said: 'Look not upon them! Look not upon them!'
'Never! never!' he replied, as he again threw himself down to rest upon
the Persian carpet.
As the Wanderer rose to depart, I heard the prayer again rising to God
from his divining soul:
'O Heavenly Father! even at the burning noon of this bitter trial, I
implore Thee for him whom I love! O God! I now entreat Thee to work a
miracle in his behalf--to sweeten the bitter cup of life for this young,
eager, thirsting soul! Deliver it from the temptations with which Thou
hast seen good to surround the strong on this earth, led like him into
these snares! Let him not fall, I beseech Thee, as did even the mighty
and beautiful angels round Thy Throne, when the thirst for power was
upon them.
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