Now a higher and nobler view of life had dawned. The thought of self-sacrifice, as a great joy in life, had come.
Once before she had had a glimpse: once, many months earlier, when she had resolved to put aside thoughts of self, and to help forward the happiness of him whom she loved, irrespective of her own desires. That feeble resolution had gone down like a reed before the hurricane rush of strong temptation. She had seen the possible nobleness, but she had not lived it.
Now matters were different. Ethel's act of self-devotion had led her upwards to something far above—infinitely beyond. Fulvia had gained in this illness new knowledge of ONE whose life and death were pure self-sacrifice, who had not lived to Himself, but to God and for men. That which had been a story to her before was at last reality. A fresh and wonderful light was shed upon everything.
Slowly, dawning like daylight, the light came. Fulvia was in no haste. She waited to see more, submitting like a little child. To such an attitude of waiting the needed lessons are always sent.
Two clear thoughts gradually rose into prominence, the first embracing the second, the second springing from the first.
Christ had given Rig life for her! Could she do less than devote her life unto Him?
That was the first and greater thought.
Ethel had been willing to die for Fulvia! Could not Fulvia voluntarily give up her heart's desire for Ethel?
That was the second and lesser thought.
The first was the easier of acceptance. The second, which of necessity followed, caused hard battling. But gradually Fulvia's resolution was taken.