"Mrs. Thorpe," she said, "I cannot allow this to go on. This restful life has meant much to me; it is hard for me to leave it, but I have been idle too long. I must get to work again."
Mrs. Thorpe understood the import of the words, and more; for there was more in tone and manner, in pause and silence, than the words conveyed.
There was little doubt that Margaret was done with the old life. The fierce, consuming struggle was over. The battle against her seeming foes, ever alive, alert, ever ready for open attack or covert sting, had been fought. There is much that one person can do for another in the struggle toward righteousness; there is the handclasp of comradeship, the countenance of faith, and, more potent than these, there is the force of thought held supreme and infallible. Yet when the test comes, when the enemy, grown strong, or snarling and impatient of delay, or crawling, insidious, in the dim shadows, makes a stand and demands its victim, then forever anew, and always alone, the old battle with the Serpent must be fought. Then the kingdoms of the world and all that they contain must be perceived, measured, weighed, balanced and judged for exactly what they are. The delusions of mortal sense have not lost their subtle deception since the days of the talking snake; and with undeviating certainty comes the time, even as it came to the first man and woman, when choose we must. Yet saving power of the Infinite, though we have lost our Eden, even as our first parents lost theirs, the Kingdom of Heaven is neither visionary nor transitory, but forever remains.
Margaret's Eden was gone; she had stepped out of her purity into darkness and evil, and the Angel with the flaming sword stood forbidding on one hand, and on the other the Beasts that had sought to destroy her. But into her life had come the understanding that there is but one real power--the Power of Eternal Good.
"What is it you have in mind to do, Margaret?" asked Mrs. Thorpe.
"I have not decided upon anything, but I must work; I cannot remain idle."
"You have not been idle, Margaret; and there is work, quantities of it, not remunerative but humane, for both of us here on the Flat."
The firelight rose and fell and fitful shadows lingered about the room, and again there was silence. Margaret was again the first to speak.
"I am not fit for the work here, Mrs. Thorpe, even if I were at liberty to devote myself to it. My past stands between me and the Master's work."
It was the first mention that had been made of the past since that day, months before, when the anguish of her remorse had swept over her like the devouring billows of the sea; when her tears had flowed sufficient, if tears have efficacy, to wash away every crimson stain.