". . . I have found a better way. . . ."

Before I could think or question, and almost as though a whisper of
the wind went past, there rose in me at once this answering
recognition. It seemed authentically convincing; it was glorious; it
was full of joy:

"That beauty which was Marion lives on, and lives for me."

It was as though a blaze of light shone through me; somewhere in my
body there were tears of welcome; for this recognition was to me
reunion.

It must seem astonishing for me, a mere soldier and Colonial Governor,
to confess you that I stood there listening to the song for a long
interval of what I can only term, with utmost sincerity, communion.
Beauty and love both visited me; I believe that truth and wisdom
entered softly with them. As I wrote above, I saw my own
insignificance, yet, such was the splendour in me, I knew my right as
well. It could be ever thus. My attitude alone prevented. I was not
excluded, not cut off. This Beauty lay ready to my hand, always
available, for ever, now. It was not unharvested. But more--it could
be shared with others; it was become a portion of myself, and that
which is part of my being must, inevitably and automatically, be given
out.

It was, thus, nowhere wasted or unharvested; it offered with prodigal
opportunity a vehicle for that inspiration which is love, and being
love of purest kind, is surely wisdom too. The dead, indeed, do not