Doubtless, thought Arctura,
she knew most things better than she, and certainly had a great deal
more common sense; but, on the other hand, was she not satisfied
with far less than she could be satisfied with? To believe as her
friend believed would not save her from insanity! She must be made
on a smaller scale of necessities than herself! How was she able to
love the God she said she believed in? God should at least be as
beautiful as his creature could imagine him! But Miss Carmichael
would say her poor earthly imagination was not to occupy itself with
such a high subject! Oh, why would not God tell her something about
himself--something direct--straight from himself? Why should she
only hear of him at second hand--always and always?
Alas, poor girl! second hand? Five hundredth hand rather? And she
might have been all the time communing with the very God himself,
manifest in his own shape, which is ours also!--all the time
learning that her imagination could never--not to say originate,
but, when presented, receive into it the unspeakable excess of his
loveliness, of his absolute devotion and tenderness to the
creatures, the children of his father!
In the absence of Miss Carmichael she had thought with less
oppression of many things that in her presence appeared
ghastly-hopeless; now in the prospect of her reappearance she began
to feel wicked in daring a thought of her own concerning the God
that was nearer to her than her thoughts! Such an unhealthy mastery
had she gained over her! What if they met Donal, and she saw her
smile to him as she always did now! One thing she was determined
upon--and herein lay the pledge of her coming freedom!--that she
would not behave to him in the least otherwise than her wont.
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