THE CURTAIN OF GOLD. 233 



pressing, heavy, gloomy, and we felt like prisoners ; nay, 

 I fancy we felt somewhat like the man in the iron room, 

 who saw, year by year, the ceiling slowly but steadily de- 

 scending to crush him. We scarcely spoke to one another 

 as we drove homeward. 



And then, just as we reached the hotel, came a burst 

 of splendor which I have no words to describe. Right 

 up the gorge the clouds had suddenly vanished, as if by 

 the word of the One who rideth on them. The horizon, 

 the whole triangle formed by the sloping hill-sides and 

 the line of the curtain over our heads, was clear as crystal, 

 and the sun poured the glow of its last rays undimmed 

 right down the valley, under the curtain which still over- 

 hung us. In an instant the curtain, which had been so 

 black and fierce, became a mass of waving gold. From 

 hill to hill it flamed over us in indescribable splendor. 

 The mists on the mountain-sides were transformed into 

 all manner of gorgeous - colored and fantastic shapes. 

 Now they flew down the ravine like hosts of frightened 

 angels, turning and seeking shelter in every ravine, under 

 every rocky ledge — then flying on again. Now they 

 climbed the hills, swiftly crowding one over another, as if 

 they were visible spirits of light climbing the golden hills 

 of heaven. Then the great curtain went rolling away 

 and vanished in all its golden glory, as if gathered by in- 

 visible hands swiftly up into heaven, revealing as it swept 

 away, high up in their majesty, solemn, grand, and yet 

 most holy in the radiance that now surrounded them, the 

 cliffs of the Eagles standing in an azure sky. So after a 

 life of storm and a death of hope stands the memory of 

 the good man gone home. So, after all gloom and all 

 doubt, and all varieties of thought and creed, stands the 

 sublime faith in which our fathers have died. So after 



