And thus, that being so, burdened and bowed down to the earth as our
pilgrim was, he was on the sure way, sooner or later, to deliverance.
Somewhere and sometime and somehow on that steep and high fenced way
deliverance was sure to come. And, then, as to the burdened man himself.
His name was once Graceless, but his name is Graceless no longer. No
graceless man runs long between these close and cramping-up walls; and,
especially, no graceless man has that burden long on his back. That is
not Graceless any longer who is leaving the Interpreter's House for the
fenced way; that is Christian, and as long as he remains Christian, the
closeness of the fence and the weight of his burden are a small matter.
But long-looked-for comes at last. And so, still carrying his burden and
keeping close within the fenced-up way, our pilgrim came at last to a
cross. And a perfect miracle immediately took place in that somewhat
ascending ground. For scarcely had Christian set his eyes on the cross,
when, without his pulling at it, or pushing it, or even at that moment
thinking of it, ere ever he was aware, he saw his burden begin to tumble,
and so it continued to do till it fell fairly out of his sight into an
open sepulchre.
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