How life may have jarred, poor insulated lady, on her during her first experience of our life at the Room, I know not, but I think she was a philosopher.  She had, with surprising rashness, and in opposition to the wishes of every member of her own family, taken her cake, and now she recognized that she must eat it, to the last crumb.  Over her wishes and prejudices my Father exercised a constant, cheerful and quiet pressure.  He was never unkind or abrupt, but he went on adding avoirdupois until her will gave way under the sheer weight.  Even to public immersion, which, as was natural in a shy and sensitive lady of advancing years, she regarded with a horror which was long insurmountable,—­even to baptism she yielded, and my Father had the joy to announce to the Saints one Sunday morning at the breaking of bread that ’my beloved wife has been able at length to see the Lord’s Will in the matter of baptism, and will testify to the faith which is in her on Thursday evening next.’  No wonder my stepmother was sometimes fretful.

On the physical side, I owe her an endless debt of gratitude.  Her relations, who objected strongly to her marriage, had told her, among other pleasant prophecies, that ’the first thing you will have to do will be to bury that poor child’.  Under the old-world sway of Miss Marks, I had slept beneath a load of blankets, had never gone out save weighted with great coat and comforter, and had been protected from fresh air as if from a pestilence.  With real courage my stepmother reversed all this.  My bedroom window stood wide open all night long, wraps were done away with, or exchanged for flannel garments next the skin, and I was urged to be out and about as much as possible.

All the quidnuncs among the ‘saints’ shook their heads; Mary Grace Burmington, a little embittered by the downfall of her Marks, made a solemn remonstrance to my Father, who, however, allowed my stepmother to carry out her excellent plan.  My health responded rapidly to this change of regime, but increase of health did not bring increase of spirituality.  My Father, fully occupied with moulding the will and inflaming the piety of my stepmother, left me now, to a degree not precedented, in undisturbed possession of my own devices.  I did not lose my faith, but many other things took a prominent place in my mind.

It will, I suppose, be admitted that there is no greater proof of complete religious sincerity than fervour in private prayer.  If an individual, alone by the side of his bed, prolongs his intercessions, lingers wrestling with his divine Companion, and will not leave off until he has what he believes to be evidence of a reply to his entreaties—­then, no matter what the character of his public protestations, or what the frailty of his actions, it is absolutely certain that he believes in what he professes.