flight
and her bond, and so swinging into a regular orbit about the Sun, while
at the same time, in her rotation, turning to him and away from
him--into the light, and into the darkness, forever denying and
confessing her lord! Her emotion must have been one of delight, however
mingled with a feeling of timorous awe, since her desire could not have
been other than one with her destination. Despite the distance and the
growing coolness she could feel the kinship still; her pulse, though
modulated, was still in rhythm with that of the solar heart, and in her
bosom were hidden consubstantial fires. But it was the sense of
otherness, of her own distinct individuation, that was mainly being
nourished, this sense, moreover, being proper to her destiny; therefore,
the signs of her likeness to the Sun were more and more being buried
from her view; her fires were veiled by a hardening crust, and her
opaqueness stood out against his light. She had no regret for all she
was surrendering, thinking only of her gain, of being clothed upon with
a garment showing ever some new fold of surprising beauty and wonder. If
she had remained in the Father's house--like the elder brother in the
Parable--then would all that He had have been hers, in nebulous
simplicity. But now, holding her revels apart, she seems to sing her own
song, and to dream her own beautiful dream, wandering, with a motion
wholly her own, among the gardens of cosmic order and loveliness. She
glories in her many veils, which, though they hide from her both her
source and her very self, are the media through which the invisible
light is broken into multiform illusions that enrich her dream. She
beholds the Sun as a far-off, insphered being existing for her, her
ministrant bridegroom; and when her face is turned away from him into
the night, she beholds innumerable suns, a myriad of archangels, all
witnesses of some infinitely remote and central flame--the Spirit of all
life. Yet, in the midst of these visible images, she is absorbed in her
individual dream, wherein she appears to herself to be the mother of all
living. It is proper to her destiny that she should be thus enwrapped in
her own distinct action and passion, and refer to herself the
appearances of a universe. While all that is not she is what she really
is,--necessary, that is, to her full definition,--she, on the other
hand, from herself interprets all else. This is the inevitable
terrestrial idealism, peculiar