Page:The cry for justice - an anthology of the literature of social protest. - (IA cryforjusticea00sinc).pdf/877

 his existence. He hung his head, but suddenly lifted it and began to speak again.

Who were those just and good men the Taion was speaking about? If he meant those who were living in fine palaces on the earth at the same time as Makar did, he knew them well enough. Their eyes were bright because they had not shed as many tears as he had, and their faces shone because they were bathed in perfume, and their clean garments had been wrought by other people's hands. Did he not see that he too had been born like the others, with bright, open eyes, in which heaven and earth were reflected as in a mirror, and with a pure heart which was ready to take in all that was beautiful in the world. And if he longed now to hide his wretched self under the ground, it was no fault of his he did not know whose fault it was all he knew was that all the patience had died in his heart.

If Makar had seen the effect which his speech had produced on the old Taion, and that every word he said fell on the golden scale like a weight of lead, his rebellious heart would have been soothed. But he saw nothing, because he was full of blind despair.

He thought of his past life, which had been so hard. How had he been able to bear it so long? He had borne it because the star of hope had shone through the darkness. And now the star had vanished, and the hope was dead Darkness fell on his soul, and a storm rose in it like the storm-wind which flies across the steppe in the dead of night. He forgot where he was, before whom he stood—forgot everything except his anger.

But the old Taion said to him: "Wait, poor man! You are no longer on earth. There is justice for you here."

And Makar trembled. He realized that they pitied