“Rather let me say,” I made answer, “in the degree that we are right with ourselves.  None attain unto perfection here.”

“Yet,” said the lady, with a sweet calmness of manner that made her look beautiful, “is it not pleasant to imagine a state of perfection—­or rather a state in which evil is quiescent, and the heart active with all good and loving impulses?  How full of inspiration is such an ideal of life!  But the way by which we must go, if we would rise into this state, is one of difficulty and perpetual warfare.  The enemies of our peace are numbered by myriads; and they. seek with deadly hatred to do us harm.”

“And yet are powerless,” said I, “if we keep the outworks of our lives in order.”

“Yes,” she answered, “it is the very ultimate or last things of our lives where the power of repulsion resides.  We can, in temptation, be it ever so strong, refuse to act in the wrong direction—­refuse to do an evil thing, because it is sinful.  And this is our bulwark; this is our tower of safety; for it is only in wrong doing that our enemies gain the victory over us.  They may assault us never so fiercely—­may dazzle our eyes with the glitter of this world’s most alluring things—­may stir the latent envy, malice, pride, or dishonesty, that lurks in every heart; but if we stand still, hold back our hands and stay our feet—­if we give our resolute ‘No’ to all enticements, and keep our actions free from evil, all hell cannot prevail against us.  God will take care of the interior of our lives, and make them pure and heavenly, if we resist evil in the exterior.  But, pardon me; I did not mean to read you a homily.”

She smiled with a grave sort of smile, and then sat silent.

“I like your way of talking,” said I. There was something about the lady that put me at ease with her, and I said this without reserve, as if I were speaking to a friend.  “It looks to higher things in life than people usually regard as worthy of our chief consideration.  To most of us, the outer world offers the highest attractions; only the few turn inwardly to the more beautiful world of mind.”

“Outward things fade—­change—­die; only spiritual things dwell in unfading beauty.  We are in a world of mere effects as to our bodies; but the soul lives in the world of causes.  Do we not spend a vain and unprofitable life, then, if we go on building, day after day, our tabernacle on the ever-shifting sands of time, instead of upon the immoveable Rock of Ages?  But who is guiltless of this folly?  Not I! not I!”

Again that calm, earnest voice fell to a lower key, and was veiled by a tender sadness.

“It is something gained,” she added, with returning firmness of tone, “if, even after the sharp lessons of many years, we get glimpses of Truth, and are willing to follow, though it be at a far distance, the light she holds aloft.  Yes, it is something gained—­something gained!”