_ CHAPTER XXIX
"Blessed influence of one true, loving soul on another. Not calculable by algebra, not deductible by logic, but mysterious, effectual, mighty as the hidden process by which the tiny seed is quickened, and bursts forth into tall stem and broad leaf, and glowing tasseled flower."--George Eliot.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Kate as she laid down the letter containing the lesson on Thought. "I didn't know we were so responsible for every little thing that comes into our mind."
"Or goes out of it," said Grace, smiling, as she finished tinting a dainty plaque. "Now we can understand that 'where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise,'" she added rather absent-mindedly.
"Yes, but I think I prefer the wisdom to the bliss. Do you understand this lecture as well as the rest?" asked Kate, again glancing at the letter.
"Why shouldn't we? It is plainly told, and is a natural sequence to the others. I should think it very helpful, and if there really is so much power in thought, it is time people knew it."
"But what of the people who do not know it? Are they utterly defenseless?"
"As long as they believe in the reality of sin, sickness and death, they must suffer from them," replied Grace, picking a loose hair from her blender.
"Then they ought to know how to learn and understand these things, but I could not tell anybody."
"We can solve any problem by going back and reasoning from the premise. If any shock of sin or sickness come over us, we have simply to remember the spiritual, which is the only real creation."
"It is not so easily done though. To-day I met the most miserable looking cripple sliding along without any limbs. I held my skirts aside as he passed, and forgot to even think of him as God's child," confessed Kate, in a regretful tone.
"Anything takes time, and we can't expect to leap into perfection at once, but what did you do after he had passed?" asked Grace, with some curiosity.
"I pitied the poor creature and wondered what made him so."
"That was the very way to keep him in the same condition," said Grace, rapidly mixing some paint. "This last lesson very clearly explains that
every thought has an influence, and that you help to make the body manifest whatever you think of it. If you think the real and true, you help to make that show forth, if you only think of the external or apparent trouble or defect, and regard it as the real, you are harming instead of helping."
"I can readily see that we may affect ourselves, but it seems hard to believe that we affect
everybody," protested Kate, incredulously.
"It is because we cannot realize the law of thought transference. I was reading just last week about that. An instance of Stuart C. Cumberland's mind-reading was cited. It was wonderful. And then long ago I read an old book written by Cornelius Agrippa about it, but I was not very much interested, and did not understand nor believe it at the time, so my memory is not worth much concerning it."
"Then you really think I added another weight to that unhappy creature's burden of trouble?" cried Kate, in sharp surprise.
"It would be best for you to deny his apparent conditions and affirm his real ones, and instead of thoughts of pity, which are only weakening, you could think of happiness and contentment. I truly believe we can learn to think of people this way, if we only catch ourselves for correction every time we think wrong."
"How shall I ever learn to bridle my thoughts?" was Kate's despairing wail.
"By learning to bridle your tongue; I found a splendid text to-day on that very theme. It is in James iii: 2. 'If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able to bridle the whole body.'
"Why, it tells in those few words the substance of all we have learned in these lessons," exclaimed Kate.
"Only we would never have had sense enough to understand without the lessons," added Grace, with a smile.
"They may be likened to a golden key that opens royal gates," said Kate, going to the piano to play while Grace was putting away her paints and brushes.
A little later Grace went out to mail a letter. As she turned from the post-box, she found herself face to face with--whom but Leon Carrington?
"Ah, an unexpected pleasure, Miss Hall!" he said, extending his hand and warmly grasping the one she slowly held out to him. He looked searchingly into her face, with clear, questioning eyes.
She dropped her lashes and drew back with a touch of the old haughtiness, murmuring something he could not hear.
"May I have the pleasure of a little walk with you?" he asked, suiting his step to hers and ignoring her apparent coldness.
"Certainly. How long since you returned to Hampton, Mr. Carrington?" recovering herself as they walked.
"Only a few days ago. I was called here on business for my uncle, and will probably be detained several weeks." He glanced at her as he spoke, but she gave no sign, only remarking it was a lovely season of the year for a visit. They walked along, talking only commonplaces, until they neared her home.
"Did you receive my letter, Miss Gra--Miss Hall?" he asked, with some unsteadiness in his voice.
"Yes," she replied, shortly. She did not understand herself any more than he did, and was vexed to find it so impossible to throw off her old proud ways, for she really intended to relent enough, at least, to have an explanation, and possibly--her thoughts could never go farther than this, and here she was, in the same imperious way, shutting her better self away from even a fair consideration of duty. These thoughts flashed through her mind while she walked on, apparently with the greatest indifference to either his words or his presence. But with a great effort she compelled herself to say again, with more warmth, "I received it, and intended to answer before this, but--" She stopped abruptly.
He gratefully caught the morsel she had given, and asked if he might not call the next day.
"Yes, you may come at three," she said, careful to set a time when Kate would surely be out.
At the door they parted, and as she went up the stairs, she wondered more than ever at her hardness, for almost unconsciously she had given up all doubts of his honor as a gentleman. What was it all about anyway? Nothing but a report that he was engaged to a young lady at the time he proposed to her, and on the testimony of a single friend, she had allowed herself to be miserable, and make another miserable, through this foolish pride that she
would conquer by to-morrow afternoon.
What! would she compel herself to so utterly ignore her own nature? She leaned against the wall half way up the stairway, startled at this revelation of herself. She did not know she was capable of such changes, and yet the last two weeks had greatly modified her opinions in many things.... Why should it not be so? If it were right she could be glad, and she reverently felt that it was right to let the Truth erase all errors and right all wrongs. To-night she would deny away every fault in her character, especially pride, deny every obstacle to understanding, and then earnestly ask for guidance, and wait till it came, for this was truly a crisis in her life.
The next day she received her guest with a perceptibly softened manner. The hour was spent in mutual explanations, and the renewal of a more friendly relation on her part, much to the satisfaction of Mr. Carrington, whose perseverance was surely worthy this much reward, but Grace would go no further, although she gave him permission to call again. She must know herself fully before another word on the subject were said. Marriage was a vague and solemn theme, something to be pondered over days and nights and months perhaps, she thought, and said to him.
Mr. Carrington was a man of earnest aim and high purpose, thoughtful, intellectual and cultured, in every way congenial to her, and she was glad to accept his friendship. That he had loved her through all her coldness and neglect, she no longer doubted, which fact was of no small import in his chances for her favor. Finding how absolutely false had been the report that had caused her misjudgment, she was anxious to prove herself at least, a friend.
After he was gone she reviewed the situation. Had she gone too far? No. All was well. She was content. Even if it should end in marriage, for marriage was the highest symbol of perfection and--. What the symbol meant was yet to be revealed, but she already knew that it had a profound and sacred meaning. _