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"But would not that be Fatalism? Where would Free-Will come in?"
"In choice of nerves," replied Arthur. "The nerve-force in the brain

may flow just as naturally down one nerve as down another.
We need something more than a fixed Law of Nature to settle which nerve

shall carry it. That 'something' is Free-Will."
Her eyes sparkled." "I see what you mean!" she exclaimed.

"Human Free-Will is an exception to the system of fixed Law.
Eric said something like that. And then I think he pointed out that

God can only influence Nature by influencing Human Wills.
So that we might reasonably pray 'give us this day our daily bread,'

because many of the causes that produce bread are under Man's control.
But to pray for rain, or fine weather, would be as unreasonable as--"

she checked herself, as if fearful of saying something irreverent.
In a hushed, low tone, that trembled with emotion, and with the

solemnity of one in the presence of death, Arthur slowly replied
"Shalt he that contendeth with the Almighty instruct him? Shall we

'the swarm that in the noontide beam were born,' feeling in ourselves
the power to direct, this way or that, the forces of Nature--of Nature,

of which we form so trivial a part--shall we, in our boundless arrogance,
in our pitifulconceit, deny that power to the Ancient of Days?

Saying, to our Creator, 'Thus far and no further. Thou madest, but
thou canst not rule!'?"

Lady Muriel had covered her face in her hands, and did not look up.
She only murmured "Thanks, thanks!" again and again.

We rose to go. Arthur said, with evident effort, "One word more.
If you would know the power of Prayer--in anything and everything that

Man can need try it. Ask, and it shall be given you. I--have tried it.
I know that God answers prayer!"

Our walk home was a silent one, till we had nearly reached the
lodgings: then Arthur murmured--and it was almost an echo of my own

thoughts--"What knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy
husband?"

The subject was not touched on again. We sat on, talking, while hour
after hour, of this our last night together, glided away unnoticed.

He had much to tell me about India, and the new life he was going to,
and the work he hoped to do. And his great generous soul seemed so

filled with noble ambition as to have no space left for any vain regret
or selfish repining.

"Come, it is nearly morning! Arthur said at last, rising and leading
the way upstairs.

"The sun will be rising in a few minutes: and, though I have basely
defrauded you of your last chance of a night's rest here,

I'm sure you'll forgive me: for I really couldn't bring myself to say
'Good night' sooner. And God knows whether you'll ever see me again,

or hear of me!"
"Hear of you I am certain I shall!" I warmly responded, and quoted the

concluding lines of that strange poem 'Waring' :--
"Oh, never star

Was lost here, but it rose afar
Look East, where whole new thousands are!

In Vishnu-land what Avatar?"
"Aye, look Eastward!" Arthur eagerly replied, pausing at the stair-case

window, which commanded a fine view of the sea and the eastward
horizon. "The West is the fitting tomb for all the sorrow and the

sighing, all the errors and the follies of the Past: for all its
withered Hopes and all its buried Loves! From the East comes new

strength, new ambition, new Hope, new Life, new Love! Look Eastward!
Aye, look Eastward!"

His last words were still ringing in my ears as I entered my room, and
undrew the window-curtains, just in time to see the sun burst in glory

from his ocean-prison, and clothe the world in the light of a new day.
"So may it be for him, and me, and all of us!" I mused. "All that is

evil, and dead, and hopeless, fading with the Night that is past!
All that is good, and living, and hopeful, rising with the dawn of Day!

"Fading, with the Night, the chilly mists, and the noxious vapours,
and the heavy shadows, and the wailing gusts, and the owl's melancholy

hootings: rising, with the Day, the darting shafts of light,
and the wholesome morning breeze, and the warmth of a dawning life,

and the mad music of the lark! Look Eastward!
"Fading, with the Night, the clouds of ignorance, and the deadly blight

of sin, and the silent tears of sorrow: and ever rising, higher,
higher, with the Day, the radiant dawn of knowledge, and the sweet

breath of purity, and the throb of a world's ecstasy! Look Eastward!
[Image...'Look eastward!']

"Fading, with the Night, the memory of a dead love, and the withered
leaves of a blighted hope, and the sickly repinings and moody regrets

thatnumb the best energies of the soul: and rising, broadening, rolling
upward like a living flood, the manly resolve, and the dauntless will,

and the heavenward gaze of faith--the substance of things hoped for,
the evidence of things not seen!

"Look Eastward! Aye, look Eastward!"
End


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