He had poetry
enough to feel something of the indwelling greatness that belonged to
the vision itself--for a vision and a prophecy it is, as much as when
first it rose on the wondering gaze of human spirit, to every soul that
through its eyes can see what those eyes cannot see. He felt a power of
some kind present to his soul in the sight--though he but set it down to
poetic feeling, which he never imagined to have anything to do with
fact. It was in the so-called Christian the mere rudiment of that
worship of the truth which in the old Guebers was developed into
adoration of it in its symbol. It was the drawing of the eternal Nature
in him towards the naturing Eternal, whom he was made to understand, but
of whom he knew so little.
When the evening came, after almost a surfeit of music, if one dare,
un-self-accused, employ such a word concerning a holy thing, they went
out to wander a little about the house in the twilight.
"In such a still soft negative of life," he said, "as such an evening
gives us, really one could almost doubt whether there was indeed such a
constantly recurring phenomenon in nature as I saw this morning!"
"What did you see this morning?" asked Hester, wondering.
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