On my little carved Prayer-book shelf lay with other volumes a copy of
A Kempis, which had belonged to my mother. Honesty had already
whispered that if I deliberately gave up the fight with evil this
must be banished with my texts and pictures. At the present moment a
familiar passage came into my head:
"When one that was in great anxiety of mind, often wavering
between fear and hope, did once humbly prostrate himself in
prayer, and said, 'O if I knew that I should persevere!' he
presently heard within him an answer from GOD, which said,
'If thou didst know it, what would'st thou do? Do what thou
would'st do then, and thou shalt be safe.'"
Supposing I began to do right, and trusted the rest? I could try to
speak to Philip, and it would be something even if I stopped short and
ran away. Or if I could not drag my feet to him, I could take Aunt
Isobel's advice, and pray. I might not be able to speak civilly to
Philip, or even to pray about him in my present state of mental
confusion, but I could repeat _some_ prayer reverently. Would it not
be better to start on the right road, even if I fell by the way?
I crossed the room in three strides to the place where I usually say
my prayers.
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