“I have long known it was true.”

Ben added his testimony to the rest.

“When I die,” said he, “I want that man to preach my funeral sermon, if he will, and if he can’t, I don’t want any at all.”

Dear boy, he had a loving heart; he was born later than either Hal or me, and had an earlier spiritual development.  Is it not always so?

I could not enjoy my new thoughts in silence as Clara did, and gave vent to my theme in the strongest terms.  Hal did not ridicule me at all:  he was too sensible for this, but he smiled at my strong expressions, and said: 

“You will preach yourself if you keep on, and I believe you would make converts.  Your eyes are as large again as they were this morning.”

“Then it must improve my looks, Hal,” I said.  “If so, I am glad, for in that respect I have always stood in the background.  My brother is an artist, and must, of course, have the handsome face.”

He laughed again, and added: 

“He will never be ashamed of his sister, I think, and never say ’Emily did it,’ even if she turns preacher.”

Mr. Benton enquired—­with his eyes—­the meaning of those words.

I answered: 

“Oh!  Hal was forever shouting that in my earlier years at my many mistakes, until I almost hated the sound of my own name, for I was always doing the very things I tried not to, and I fear I have not finished all yet.  And I thought, for a little, of the wrong light in which Mr. Benton held my strange talk with him.

I was each day more troubled regarding this, and especially so, since I had no one to talk with about it.  Clara I must not tell, and I had resolved for her sake to be misunderstood indefinitely, for if I had failed in one point, I had gained in another.  The burden was lifted from her, and she had told me the cloud was broken and she felt better, and added the strange words, “It may yet come near me; it seems as if a fringe of the cloud must yet touch me:  but I am relieved for the present.”

I feared to worry my mother, who, during all these days, was very busy and full of care.  Aunt Hildy would hardly understand me, and as I was waiting for something to move as it were, to make room for me to step, I must still wait, and thought what a pity it was I had not waited in the beginning, and then when I did move make all things plain.  But then it lay before me, around and within me, this strange compound of good thought and impulsive will, and I must reach and fall until, ah!  I could not tell when I should graduate in this school.

I had now power to restrain myself in many ways, and that had been given in the days before described, when I passed from girlhood to womanhood, but to sit satisfied and wait, I could not yet do.  It seemed as if the wings of my thought must grow, and wanted to help me fly, and I was like a bird longing to get into the freedom that waited, and like the bird too, did not realize that my attempts would be in vain, and I could never get out of the cage until a hand opened its door.  Therefore, full often I battled unwisely, but I certainly came to know those times, and never made a mistake that I did not realize just a moment too late.  How foolish it was!