There was
wonder yet in the apparent ease with which he had sauntered into the
prison of her life and, with a laugh and jest, set her free. He had
shown her, for the first time in her life, the blessedness of
receiving. Those whose nature it is to give greatly are not
ungenerous to the giving of others. It is a small and selfish mind
which fears to take, and Desire was neither small nor selfish. She
had hidden the thanks she could not speak deep in her heart, letting
them lie there, a core of sweetness, sweeter for its silence.
Who shall say when in this secret core a wonderful something began
to quicken and to grow? So fine were its beginnings that Desire
herself knew them only as new bloom and color, 'violets sweeter, the
blue sky bluer'--the old eternal miracle of a new-made earth.
She had called this new thing friendship and had been content. Only
today, when she had for an instant glimpsed life through the eyes of
Agnes Martin, had there seemed possible a greater word. In that
quiet room another name had whispered around her heart like the
first breath of a rising wind. She had not dared to listen. Yet,
without listening, she heard. And now, through Li Ho's letter, that
other Self who would have none of love, stretched out a phantom hand
and beckoned.
The professor took the letter from her gravely, retaining, for an
instant the unsteady hand that gave it.
"Aren't you able to get away from it yet?" he asked kindly.
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