I saw the Wanderer take one of these lights, and gaze, with a look of
woe, upon the face of his friend. The young man was silent, he found no
utterance, he had lost the secret of revealing, by honest words, the
depths of the soul. But the bitter truth was expressed in the long wild
cry which burst spasmodically from his lips. In it might be read the
seduction and destruction of a young spirit, not consenting to its own
shame and ruin!
He laid his head on the strong shoulder of his friend, and closed his
heavy eyelids, as if he dreamed, in this trying moment, it would be
possible for him thus to close them forever. But the Wanderer, suddenly
calling him back to consciousness, said: 'Follow me! follow me, that
thou mayst remember forever the Form of the murdered Mother!'
So saying, he led the young man to a low door which opened behind the
Great Altar. A whirlwind, as if from plains of ice, blew upon them from
the subterranean passages below, and the flame of the taper streamed
upon the blast, swaying and torn into a line of dying sparks. And thus
they commenced the plunge into the very bosom of night, descending ever
lower and lower, exploring depth after depth, until at last they had
worked their way through the narrow and winding passages, and stood in
the sublime silence of the immensity of space.
Their taper had long ago gone out, but they needed not its flickering
light.
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