It takes courage to face the mouths of cannon; yet that, though horrible, lasts not long. But the woman who, alone and unknown, goes into the mixed and frightful mass of humankind represented by a great city, to seek a chance to earn honest bread, displays a courage besides which that of the bravest soldier must lose a little of its luster. And any one who makes her hard road harder, builds for himself a wall which will not be easy to scale; he is but lengthening the period of his own spiritual evolution.
The train rolled on, its wheels beating a steady rhythm like the feet of flying horses, their vibrations striking the sick heart of the weary woman inside, and making it quake with terror.
She had kept a smiling face before the Butterfly clear to the last; but now that she was alone—at least unknown to her fellow travelers, hence secure from intrusion, her courage evaporated, and she curled up on her sofa, a mere lump of suffering.
As the telegraph posts flew by she pictured herself taken out, tied to one and shot dead by balls from many rifles, and earnestly wished she could exchange her present situation for such brief pain.
Is this world hell? The query had come to her before, and now it challenged her boldly. Whose happiness or safety was secure for the morrow?
Of what was ahead of her she scarcely dared to think. Glimpses of its grim possibilities flashed across her mind, making her mobile face set and stern. A frightened light came into her eyes and a strange expression fluttered around her mouth. In imagination she was seeing the two rivers that flow on either side of New York, and was thinking of what they had done and were yet to do for those who found the burden of life greater than they could bear.
In that moment she felt a cool, soft breeze about her, and with it came the thought that she could never seek solace there—she who knew that life reached out an unbroken line, beyond the sight and even the dreams of men. Not for her ran rivers, whose flowing waters lapped and swirled and wooed world-weary hearts. Did she believe that silence, nothingness, insensate dust alone were at the end of our journey here, there; blessed be the rivers! But she knew—knew beyond doubt that no river can extinguish the spark of divinity we call consciousness.
After all, why should she fear? No one stands absolutely alone. There is no separateness, no differentiation. Back of each, eternal Being mirrors itself forever; and that which we see is as nothing compared to that which we see not. The cloud of witnesses more than witnesses. Influences invisible, but powerful, are ever working for us. Threads hidden from bodily eyes connect us with all life beheld and unbeheld.
Her own people were in touch with her, loved and inspired her, no matter in what part of the universe they dwelt, and nothing could divide her from them.
Remembering this, the shadow of fear passed, and she prepared to meet her destiny with courage.