The windows of Lilian’s room were darkened; all within the house seemed still.

Darkened and silenced home, with the light and sounds of the jocund day all around it.  Was there yet hope in the Universe for me?  All to which I had trusted Hope had broken down; the anchors I had forged for her hold in the beds of the ocean, her stay from the drifts of the storm, had snapped like the reeds which pierce the side that leans on the barb of their points, and confides in the strength of their stems.  No hope in the baffled resources of recognized knowledge!  No hope in the daring adventures of Mind into regions unknown; vain alike the calm lore of the practiced physician, and the magical arts of the fated Enchanter!  I had fled from the commonplace teachings of Nature, to explore in her Shadowland marvels at variance with reason.  Made brave by the grandeur of love, I had opposed without quailing the stride of the Demon, and my hope, when fruition seemed nearest, had been trodden into dust by the hoofs of the beast!  And yet, all the while, I had scorned, as a dream, more wild than the word of a sorcerer, the hope that the old man and the child, the wise and the ignorant, took from their souls as inborn.  Man and fiend had alike failed a mind, not ignoble, not skill-less, not abjectly craven; alike failed a heart not feeble and selfish, not dead to the hero’s devotion, willing to shed every drop of its blood for a something more dear than an animal’s life for itself!  What remained—­what remained for man’s hope?—­man’s mind and man’s heart thus exhausting their all with no other result but despair!  What remained but the mystery of mysteries, so clear to the sunrise of childhood, the sunset of age, only dimmed by the clouds which collect round the noon of our manhood?  Where yet was Hope found?  In the soul; in its every-day impulse to supplicate comfort and light, from the Giver of soul, wherever the heart is afflicted, the mind is obscured.

Then the words of Ayesha rushed over me:  “What mourner can be consoled, if the dead die forever?” Through every pulse of my frame throbbed that dread question; all Nature around seemed to murmur it.  And suddenly, as by a flash from heaven, the grand truth in Faber’s grand reasoning shone on me, and lighted up all, within and without.  Man alone, of all earthly creatures, asks, “Can the dead die forever?” and the instinct that urges the question is God’s answer to man.  No instinct is given in vain.

And born with the instinct of soul is the instinct that leads the soul from the seen to the unseen, from time to eternity, from the torrent that foams toward the Ocean of Death, to the source of its stream, far aloft from the Ocean.