And then the very subject that the doctor had so painstakingly warned her against presented itself to her in every form and shape that it was possible for it to assume.
"There is no pain nor suffering in this changing process," she thought; "even when disintegration sets in there is no reason to believe that a leaf or plant or flower feels the downward process to which it is subjected. This heritage of suffering, the realization of corruption and pollution, has been reserved for man--man, who of all the creatures of God's creation has been made the most susceptible to pain and woe. The vine flings its blood-colored leaves to the breeze, oblivious of time or change. The great trees reach their arms to the sky and stand secure in their native strength. How complete is the harmony between all growing things and Nature's laws that govern them."
When thinking deeply Mrs. Thorpe often experienced the strange phenomenon of having her thoughts suddenly, and without her conscious will, revert to some irrelevant circumstance or event apparently forgotten. Vividly before her now there flashed the vision of a little girl, who in her childish mind firmly believed that there were two Gods, a good one and a bad one. She gave a low shriek and covered her face with her hands.
"I have been worshiping the bad God!" she whispered.
Pauline, who was busy in an adjoining room, thought she heard a peculiar sound, and came into the room. She found Mrs. Thorpe reclining in an easy chair near the window.
"Are you feeling well, Evelyn?" she asked.
"As well as usual, I think," Mrs. Thorpe replied. Then she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. It was another bitter drop in her cup, the bitterest one of all, perhaps, that she could not prevent wild impulses and strange fancies from flitting through her brain. She might be obliged to yield her body to this unknown power that no man could explain or trace to its origin, but with all the force of her nature she fought against yielding her brain and will as well.
There was with her a continual sense of discord and irritation; small, trivial things upset her mental balance and rendered her trying and exacting with those about her. Secretly, she resented the close companionship of Pauline; she chaffed over the way many small tasks were performed, and often felt hurt and miserable, and all sorts of unhappy fancies dwelt in her mind.
Those were dark days at the parsonage. Daily the pastor knelt in prayer and implored the gracious Father to restore health and strength to the dear one suffering under His hand.
Mrs. Thorpe grew more frail and her health continued to decline during the winter. She would sometimes sit for hours thinking or dreaming, her hands folded idly in her lap, her eyes on the glowing fire. But no hint of the trend of her thoughts ever escaped her. Whatever problems presented themselves to her, she found their solution alone or not at all; from whatever premise she reasoned, she reasoned alone, without a hint or help to guide her, and her conclusions were always the deductions of her own brain, but flavored and colored, no doubt, by the writers, ancient and modern, sacred and secular, whose convictions and beliefs she had read, measured and weighed.