re might be other Powers as well,
belonging definitely to neither one nor other. Her thought stopped dead
at that. But the big idea found lodgment in her little mind, and, owing
to the largeness of her heart, remained there unejected. It even brought
a certain solace with it.

The failure--or unwillingness, as she preferred to state it--of her God
to interfere and help, that also she came in a measure to understand.
For here, she found it more and more possible to imagine, was perhaps no
positive evil at work, but only something that usually stands away from
humankind, something alien and not commonly recognized. There _was_ a
gulf fixed between the two, and Mr. Sanderson _had_ bridged it, by his
talk, his explanations, his attitude of mind. Through these her husband
had found the way into it. His temperament and natural passion for the
woods had prepared the soul in him, and the moment he saw the way to go
he took it--the line of least resistance. Life was, of course, open to
all, and her husband had the right to choose it where he would. He had
chosen it--away from her, away from other men, but not necessarily away
from God. This was an enormous concession that she skirted, never really
faced; it was too revolutionary to face. But its possibility peeped into
her bewildered mind. It might delay his progress, or it might advance
it. Who could know? And why should God, who ordered all things with such
magnificent detail, from the pathway of a sun to the falling of a
sparrow, object to his free choice, or interfere to hinder him and stop?

She came to realize resignation, that is, in another aspect. It gave her
comfort, if not peace. She fought against all belittling of her God. It
was, perhaps, enough that He--knew.

"You are not alone, dear in the trees out there?" she ventured one
night, as he crept on tiptoe into the room not far from midnight. "God
is with you?"

"Magnificently," was the immediate answer, given with enthusiasm, "for
He is everywhere. And I only wish that you--"

But she stuffed the clothes against her ears. That invitation on his
lips was more than she could bear to hear. It seemed like asking her to
hurry to her own execution. She buried her face among the sheets and
blankets, shaking all over like a leaf.

~IX~

And so the thought that she was the one to go remained and grew. It was,
perhaps, first sign of that weakening of the mind which indicated the
singular manner of her going. For