“But does not,” he said, gently lowering his eyes upon mine after a moment’s pause—“does not your choice of a profession imply that you have not to give chase to a fleeting phantom? Do you not profess to have, and hold, and therefore teach the truth?”
“I profess only to have caught glimpses of her white garments,—those, I mean, of the abstract truth of which you speak. But I have seen that which is eternally beyond her: the ideal in the real, the living truth, not the truth that I can THINK, but the truth that thinks itself, that thinks me, that God has thought, yea, that God is, the truth BEING true to itself and to God and to man—Christ Jesus, my Lord, who knows, and feels, and does the truth. I have seen Him, and I am both content and unsatisfied. For in Him are hid all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. Thomas a Kempis says: ‘Cui aeternum Verbum loquitur, ille a multis opinionibus expeditur.’” (He to whom the eternal Word speaks, is set free from a press of opinions.)
I rose, and held out my hand to Mr Stoddart. He rose likewise, and took it kindly, conducted me to the room below, and ringing the bell, committed me to the care of the butler.
As I approached the gate, I met Jane Rogers coming back from the village. I stopped and spoke to her. Her eyes were very red.
“Nothing amiss at home, Jane?” I said.
“No, sir, thank you,” answered Jane, and burst out crying.
“What is the matter, then? Is your——”
“Nothing’s the matter with nobody, sir.”
“Something is the matter with you.”
“Yes, sir. But I’m quite well.”