many generations of good men would have fed
full upon a husk of lies and have lain down to sleep at last as though
satisfied with meat. My heart rises at the thought. I am immortal. I
know that I am immortal. I am a spirit. In days to come, unchained by
matter, time, or space, I shall stand before the throne of the Father
of all spirits, receiving of His wisdom and fulfilling His commandments.
Yet, O God, help Thou my unbelief. O God, draw and deliver me from this
abyss."

From this time forward here and there in the diary were to be found
passages, or rather sentences, that Morris did not understand. They
alluded to some secret and persistent effort which the writer had been
making, and after one of them came these words, "I have failed again,
but she was near me; I am sure that she was very near me."

Then at last came this entry, which, as the writing showed, was written
with a shaking hand. "I have seen her beyond the possibility of a doubt.
She appeared, and was with me quite a while; and, oh! the rapture! It
has left me weak and faint after all that long, long preparation. It is
of the casting forth of spirits that it is said, 'This kind goeth not
out but by prayer and fasting,' but it is also true of the drawing of
them down. To see a spirit one must grow akin to spirits, which is not
good for us who are still in the flesh. I am satisfied. I have seen, and
I _know_. Now I shall call her back no more lest the thing should get
the mastery of me, and I become unfitted for my work on earth. This
morning I could scarcely hold the bow of the violin, and its sweetest
notes sounded harsh to me; I heard discords among their harmonies. Also
I had no voice to sing, and after all the money and time that have been
spent upon them, I must keep up my playing and singing, since, perhaps,
in the future if my father's health should fail, as it often threatens
to do, they may be our only means of livelihood. NO, I shall try no
more; I will stop while there is yet time, while I am still my own
mistress and have the strength to deny me this awful joy. But I have
seen! I have seen, and I am thankful, who shall never doubt again. Yet
the world, and those who tread it, can never more be quite the same to
me, and that is not wholesome. This is the price which must be paid for
vision of that which we were not meant to touch, to taste, to handle."

After this, for some years--until it was decided, indeed, that they
should move to Monksl