“Now, what’s the trouble?” he said. “Why are you hostile? Is it just because Infinite Love came to your help last night, and sent you to sleep, instead of letting you drink that poisonous stuff? I guess it’s that. But to think or suggest that I hypnotised you or drugged you is childish. To doubt that it all happened in any other way than the way it did is error on your part. Why not accept a perfectly simple explanation. Can you seriously offer any other? How often before, when you’ve been wanting the stuff badly, and have known you would get it in an hour, have you dropped off to sleep instead? Why, never. And what is the first occasion of it happening? When I was treating you, bringing you into the presence of Divine Love—not suggesting things either to Him or you, but just leaving you together. I treated you for some four hours last night, beginning soon after dinner.”
“But it’s all impos——” began Thurso. “I don’t understand it, anyhow.”
“That’s a different matter,” said Cochrane.
“But explain. If you’ve brought me there, is it all over? Am I cured?”
“No; because you have made a habit of error, and that habit has to be broken. You’ve got to form a new habit of non-error. You will have to put yourself in the hands of Love often and often before you get rid of this. At least, I expect that, though we can’t tell in what manner He will choose to heal you. But I expect that: from what we know a habit takes longer to cure than an occasional lapse. It is hard to forget a thing we have got by heart. And we’ve got to ask, to keep on asking.”
Again the hostile attitude was smothered, and interest took its place.
“But why?” asked Thurso. “Why, if error is all a mistake, without real existence, does it bind us? How can it?”
“Gracious! I can’t tell you,” said Cochrane. “But there’s no doubt it is so.”
“And you can heal people who don’t believe?” he asked.
“Why not? But a man who didn’t believe couldn’t heal. And by the time the cure is complete, as far as I know, the patient nearly always believes.”