My strength rapidly returned once I had got in the open air. Thomas
always found it perfectly convenient now to take me for a drive, even at
most unseasonable hours. His gardening was pressing heavily upon him, and
no doubt it was hard for him to trust the care of flower and vegetable
beds to other hands; but of the two he preferred to trust them rather
than me, to strangers.
We took long drives over hill and valley--for the most part taking the
road that skirted the seashore. Silently I would watch the white sails
disappearing beyond the eastern horizon, wishing that I could follow them
to my guardian's side. I missed the delightful hours I used to spend in
his study listening to his conversation, so different from that of any
human being I ever knew. He lived so far above the range of little minds,
the trivialities of everyday life, social gossip, and the like, seemed
to shrink from his presence. One always felt the touch of noble thoughts,
and the longing for high endeavor where he was. I lived over again in
these long, quiet drives, with the silent Thomas, those last few months,
when, with my innocent child's heart, I sunned myself in his presence,
unconscious of the rare charm and fascination that drew me to him.
But as I grew stronger I turned from the past and its memories,
bitter-sweet, and set myself resolutely to the duty of living my life
well, independently of its secret unrest and pain. I knew that many
before me, multitudes after me, would be called to endure a like
discipline, and the world, no doubt, is the richer in what it holds as
imperishable because of the compensation suffering brings; for if we take
with a docile mind the discipline God gives, there will always be
compensation.
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