ad spoken earnestly, mildly: his look was not, indeed, that of a lover beholding his mistress, but it was that of a pastor recalling his wandering sheep- or better, of a guardian angel watching the soul for which he is responsible. All men of talent, whether they be men of feeling or not; whether they be zealots, or aspirants, or despots- provided only they be sincere- have their sublime moments, when they subdue and rule. I felt veneration for St. John- veneration so strong that its impetus thrust me at once to the point I had so long shunned. I was tempted to cease struggling with him- to rush down the torrent of his will into the gulf of his existence, and there lose my own. I was almost as hard beset by him now as I had been once before, in a different way, by another. I was a fool both times. To have yielded then would have been an error of principle; to have yielded now would have been an error of judgment. So I think at this hour, when I look back to the crisis through the quiet medium of time: I was unconscious of folly at the instant.
I stood motionless under my hierophant's touch. My refusals were forgotten- my fears overcome- my wrestlings paralysed. The Impossible- i.e., my marriage with St. John- was fast becoming the possible. All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Religion called- Angels beckoned- God commanded- life rolled together like a scroll- death's gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, that for safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. The dim room was full of visions.
'Could you decide now?' asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in gentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how far more potent is it than force! I could resist St. John's wrath: I grew pliant as a reed under his kindness. Yet I knew all the time, if I yielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of my former rebellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemn prayer: it was only elevat
本章未完，点击下一页继续阅读。