Having resumed her ordinary dregs, Maud went downstairs to the
parlour where her aunt was sitting. Miss Bygrave laid down a book as
she entered.
"We shall not see each other after tonight," Theresa said, breaking
the stillness with her grave but not unkind voice. "Is there
anything more you would like to say to me, Maud?"
"Only that I shall always think of you, and grieve that we are
parted."
"You are going into the world," said the other sadly, "my thoughts
cannot follow you there. But your purer spirit will often be with
me."
"And your spirit with me. If I had been permitted to share your
life, that would have been my greatest joy. I am consciously
choosing what my soul would set aside. For a time I thought I had
reconciled myself to the world; I found delight in it, and came to
look on the promptings of the spirit as morbid fancies. That has
passed. I know the highest, but between me and it there is a gulf
which it may be I shall never pass."
"It is only to few," said Theresa, looking at Maud with her smile of
assured peace, "that it is given to persevere and attain."
As they sat once more in silence, there suddenly came a light knock
at the house-door.
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