WHERE is Truth? I want to go to her," said Strife.

"She lives in a castle of rock crystal, high up above, on the highest mountain in the world, and looks out thence on all the lands, and knows every thing, and whosoever attains thither finds everlasting rest; but I do not know the road."

So spoke a golden eagle, flapped his wings, and disappeared into immeasurable heights.

But straight in front of Strife there stood of a sudden a little being, with turned-up nose, large, light, prominent eyes that only looked outwards, and a half-opened mouth, as though she had just spoken.

"Whence come you?" said Strife.

"I don't know."

"Whither are you going?"

"I don't know either."

"What do you want in the world?"

"I want to know, for my name is Query."

"Oh, you want to know? Then perhaps you know the road to Truth."

"Yes, I know it, and that is why I do not go on it, for I want to see that which I do not know."

"But Truth knows all."

"Oh no; how can she know? She sits up there in her castle, while I run about and ask and ask."

And she skipped about restlessly as she spoke. Seeing a flower, she stooped down and asked—

"Why do you grow here?"

"Bah," cried Strife, impatiently, and trod it down. "What do I care about that! You are to show me the road to Truth."

"That I will not," cried Query, and ran away.

With two long strides Strife caught her up, and seized her by the arm.

"I don't leave go of you till you have led me thither."

"But I don't know the whole way; I can only lead you as far as Doubt."

"Then lead me to Doubt."

"I will not," said Query, defiantly, and tugged at the arm that was captive.

Strife grew enraged. He tore up stinging nettles, and lashed her with them until she promised to do all that he desired. Then he slung his golden chain round her body, and said—

"Now lead me and I will follow."

Then she began to lead him astray, on rough paths, through shrubs and water, and over rocks, and across the desert. At last she stood still and laughed at him scornfully, pointing out with a titter the spot whence they had set forth. At this Strife grew so furious that even impertinent little Query began to tremble. And she had reason to tremble, for he chained her to the nearest tree and lashed at her with cords until she could cry no more.

"Now," he said, "explain to me how to reach as far as Doubt, for I will no longer go with you. But if you deceive me again I will strike you dead."

She pointed out the road to him, and he went away without looking back, leaving her tied to the tree. She begged and entreated and cried for help in vain. His mighty form grew smaller and smaller, the sun scorched her hotter and hotter. Poor little Query nearly perished. But the inquisitive swallows, who were her especial friends, saw her need, and brought her drops of water and crumbs of bread in their beaks. This lasted until autumn came, and they set forth on their wanderings. In her need she turned to the wind for aid. He began to blow stronger and stronger, till he had broken down the tree. Had little Query not been so lithe and supple, it would have cost her her life. At it was, she fell to the ground numb with fear and cold. But she soon roused herself, loosed herself free from the stump, and ran off as fast as her feet could bear her, to peer once more with curious eyes into the world.

Strife had reached Doubt, who lived at the foot of the mountain where stood the castle of Truth. His house was surrounded by a large bog, into which countless persons had sunk who had sought the road to Truth. Strife hewed down a whole forest and threw it into the bog, and then stepped across it to the dwelling of Doubt.

"Hold!" cried Doubt. "You don't escape from here without a struggle."

"That just suits me. I came here to wrestle with you."

So they began to tussle, and they fought together for the space of a whole year. Winter came; they strove upon the ice. Summer came; they still contended. The wood that Strife had thrown into the bog began to sink under the mighty bodies, and it sank deeper and deeper until it threatened to engulf them. Then, at last, Doubt gave way, and said—

"Well go, but it will not be for your happiness."

"I do not seek happiness; I seek Truth," said Strife, and began to climb the mountain. The longer he ascended the higher it seemed to grow; with immense exertion he climbed from rock to rock. Beneath him a precipice yawned continually, and threatened to destroy him. More than once he had to lay hold of the stones and pull himself up by them. A block broke and fell thundering into the deeps. From time to time it lightened and flashed up in the heights; that must be the palace of crystal which Strife had vowed to enter. After new exertions he reached a wondrous lovely forest dell, surrounded by tall, aspiring trees. Within was such scent of flowers, such murmur of water, such song of birds, that a strange sensation came over him, while straight in front, upon a polished rocky point, something shone like to the sun itself. That was the castle of rock crystal. Its thousand facets caught the light and sunbeams, and reflected them up and down in endless refractions. The pointed turrets reared themselves against the clear ether, like ice upon which snow has never fallen. It was as though light moved about in it of its own will and power, as though it came forth thence, and not from the Sun that stood behind the castle. When Strife shielded his eyes with his hand in order to endure the glare, a lovely maiden, clothed only in her own golden locks, came forth from the castle and down the hill. She had laid a huge green leaf across her shoulders to shelter her from the sun, and was thus flooded with gold-green light. In her hand she held a pitcher cut from a single topaz. In it the wood, the flowers, and her own graceful image were reflected. Strife watched her as she placed her small white feet upon the moss, walking so lightly that she left no trace. She had cast down her eyes as she neared the spring. Then Strife came close, and said as gently as he could—

"Give me to drink. I am thirsty."

She lifted her eyes with astonishment and looked at the strong, dark man. To him it seemed as though heaven looked at him, so deep blue, so clear and pure were her eyes. The long weary road, the fierce struggles, ay, even the goal that he would reach, vanished from his memory as he looked at this impressive beauty.

"Are you Truth?" he asked, at last. "If so I will worship you."

The rosy child-mouth opened.

"No, Truth is my mother; I am called Innocence. Do you wish to go to her?"

"Yes—no, no longer; I will stay with you, for you are more beautiful than all."

"Am I beautiful?" asked the girl with surprise; "my mother has never told me that. But you, you are beautiful, and you look so good, therefore you shall drink out of my pitcher."

When he had drunk the draught he was quite beside himself. He had only one thought, to win charming Innocence unto himself.

"Come, play with me, thou heavenly child," he said; "I can teach you quite new games, here, on this fair meadow."

And he made balls out of flowers and threw them at her, and watched her movements as she caught them laughing and shouting gleefully. Then he made her run and he ran after. Then he blindfolded his eyes with leaves, and she teased him till he caught her. At last she grew so wanton that she bound him round with creepers, upon which he made as though he could not stand, and let himself fall into the grass. She laughed merrily, and strewed him with flowers and leaves; but when she had nearly covered him, he shook himself free, sprang up, raised her high into the air, and ran with her to the wood.

"Mother, mother!" called the terrified maiden.

Then the sun sank and night covered all things.

Truth sat in her crystal castle and waited for her daughter. She wondered where the sweet child could have strayed, and tried to behold her as she saw all things. But fear for her own flesh and blood troubled her vision. She passed her hand before her eyes several times, but she clearly beheld the sun set and the moon rise so she could not be blind. When the moon shone down on her castle, she heard quite distinctly her child's voice crying in terror, "Mother, my mother!" and the next moment, with a fearful crash, the castle of crystal was rent in twain from top to bottom. Truth grew yet paler than the moon that was shining into her face. She rushed down the mountain. The stream sparkled in the moonlight, and there lay the topaz pitcher and a smell of crushed flowers filled the air. The mourning mother stood still and asked of Night where was her child, and all the flowers began to weep and drooped their heads in sorrow, and soon the whole meadow was wet with their tears.

Truth went onward, petrified, following the traces of her child deep into the wood, where the moon played with the shadows and conjured forth all sorts of shapes. She went on and on, till at last she heard a sound of weeping, and the next moment she stood before her daughter, who lay on her knees and stretched out her arms towards her. No one spoke a word, even Night held her breath; but the eyes of Truth began to glow like flames of fire. With one look she burnt her daughter's hair, with the next she dazzled Strife, who stood entranced and could only stare at her. He felt the pain of it shoot through all his body, he put his hand up to his eyes, he tottered and fell against a tree. He wanted to see; he knew that Innocence was kneeling there in the moonlight, but he was stone blind; no ray of light was ever again to illuminate his darkness. At last Truth spoke with deep resounding voice—

"My child, you are torn from me for ever. Up here there is no longer room for you. Oh why did you not obey? I had warned you against every stranger; you were to speak to none, to give no answers. Here, take my cloak; at the foot of the mountain you will find shelter."

With these words she turned and went away, and her sighs bent the crowns of the trees, and grew to a great storm that raged through the world like an everlasting plaint. Strife stormed down the mountain and howled with pain and despair. Since that time he has grown yet more violent, for he is blind, and rushes through the world senselessly, trying to wreak vengeance on it for his eternal pain. Poor Innocence wrapped the cloak round her trembling limbs, and descended slowly into the valley. Her feet were scratched by the rough stones, and her tears flowed ceaselessly. A few hours ago and she had been the most lovely flower on the heights, and now she was crushed and trodden down. She came to the haunts of men, and knocked at their doors and asked for alms, but she got more abuse than alms. At last she came to the spot where Doubt dwelt, and one stormy night she passed with light foot over the bog, not knowing that death yawned under her feet. Doubt was amazed when he heard a tap at his door. Who could have crossed the bog on such a night! There stood a pale tired woman, and begged for shelter, and said she would not stay long.

"Who are you?" asked Doubt.

"I am called Innocence."

Doubt laughed a hard short laugh.

"You will not make me believe that."

But as his words made her cry he grew very somber.

"Is it Strife that has brought you to this? Oh shame, oh everlasting shame! A curse on him and his search for Truth. It were better he had been drowned here."

And Doubt received Innocence most kindly and kept her beside him, but he could give her no comfort. Each of his words only made her heart heavier, until at last he told her that she would be a mother.

"Then I shall die," said Innocence.

At the moment her child was born it glided away like a snake, and hopped and danced like a will-o'-the-wisp across the bog of Doubt.

"Oh, my child," sighed Innocence, "come to me, only once."

Then she felt a burning and glowing at her breasts and a sucking that drained her very life. And while the little being sucked it gained charming form, and it had eyes that shone now black, now green. Innocence felt how it was draining from her all her heart's blood, and with a soft sigh she inclined her lovely head in death. Doubt buried her in the silent bog that covered her with its dark waters. Then he looked at the child.

"Shall I murder you, you horrid wretch? No; the world is ripe for you, you shall live; go forth and avenge your mother!"

And so saying he threw her into the bog, across which she slid like an eel, and hopped out into the world to do as much mischief in it as possible.

Strife was her special butt; she tempted and teased and provoked him incessantly, and often sent him into towering rages. Then he tried to wring her neck, for he knew not that she was his daughter. But she always escaped, laughing, from the blind man, and mocked him.

The world was enchanted with her. It lay at her feet and adored her as a goddess; and this goddess was Falsehood.