This was no vista of the present: this scene of the white sheep bedding down for the night in the dim light of the herder's fire. Rather it was an image of the uncounted ages. All the basic elements of life were here: the flocks, the herder's little shelter, the fire glowing in the falling darkness, the watchful shepherd dog guarding the lambs, the beasts of prey lurking in the growing shadows.
There was nothing here to perish or change. It had been the same for uncounted centuries,—since the first dim days when the nomads drove their flocks over the plains of Asia. Cities are born, grow great, are cursed with wickedness, and perish. The flocks still wander on the hills. Men catch new fancies, follow new teachings, build new orders, and pursue new ways. The firelight of the herder still glows in the twilight. Civilization rises and falls like the tide. The beasts of prey still lurk in the thickets to slay the sheep. Fashions, hobbies, pleasures, habits and modes of life, faiths and doctrines, even kingdoms and palaces start up, flourish, change and die,—and still the shepherd dog keeps his watch.
He was suddenly called from his reverie by the voice of the guide beside him. "Fire's about out," the man said. "Time herder put on more fuel."
It was a commonplace remark, yet it compelled Hugh's attention. His startled eyes
