"I am coming!" I cried. "Wait for me! Oh, I will come!" I flew to
the door and looked into the passage: it was dark. I ran out into
the garden: it was void.
"Where are you?" I exclaimed.
The hills beyond Marsh Glen sent the answer faintly back--"Where are
you?" I listened. The wind sighed low in the firs: all was
moorland loneliness and midnight hush.
"Down superstition!" I commented, as that spectre rose up black by
the black yew at the gate. "This is not thy deception, nor thy
witchcraft: it is the work of nature. She was roused, and did--no
miracle--but her best."
I broke from St. John, who had followed, and would have detained me.
It was MY time to assume ascendency. MY powers were in play and in
force. I told him to forbear question or remark; I desired him to
leave me: I must and would be alone. He obeyed at once. Where
there is energy to command well enough, obedience never fails. I
mounted to my chamber; locked myself in; fell on my knees; and
prayed in my way--a different way to St. John's, but effective in
its own fashion. I seemed to penetrate very near a Mighty Spirit;
and my soul rushed out in gratitude at His feet. I rose from the
thanksgiving--took a resolve--and lay down, unscared, enlightened--
eager but for the daylight.