MEMORIES


Perfect happiness is the soul's acceptance of a sense of joy without
question. And this is what I felt through all my being on that
never-to-be-forgotten night. Just as a tree may be glad of the soft
wind blowing its leaves, or a daisy in the grass may rejoice in the
warmth of the sun to which it opens its golden heart without either
being able to explain the delicious ecstasy, so I was the recipient
of light and exquisite felicity which could have no explanation or
analysis. I did not try to think,--it was enough for me simply to
BE. I realised, of course, that with the Harlands and their two paid
attendants, the materialist Dr. Brayle, and the secretarial machine,
Swinton, Rafel Santoris could have nothing in common,--and as I
know, by daily experience, that not even the most trifling event
happens without a predestined cause for its occurrence and a purpose
in its result, I was sure that the reason for his coming into touch
with us at all was to be found in connection, through some
mysterious intuition, with myself. However, as I say, I did not
think about it,--I was content to breathe the invigorating air of
peace and serenity in which my spirit seemed to float on wings. I
slept like a child who is only tired out with play and pleasure,--I
woke like a child to whom the world is all new and brimful of
beauty. That it was a sunny day seemed right and natural--clouds and
rain could hardly have penetrated the brilliant atmosphere in which
I lived and moved. It was an atmosphere of my own creating, of
course, and therefore not liable to be disturbed by storms unless I
chose. It is possible for every human being to live in the sunshine
of the soul whatever may be the material surroundings of the body.
The so-called 'practical' person would have said to me:--'Why are