think the weak soul of the girl staggered from its dungeon, and
groped through these heavy-browed hills, these colour-dreams,
through the faces of dog or man upon the street, to find the God
that lay behind. So she saw the world, and its beauty and warmth
being divine as near to her, the warmth and beauty became real in
her, found their homely reflection in her daily life. So she
knew, too, the Master in whom she believed, saw Him in
everything that lived, more real than all beside. The waiting
earth, the prophetic sky, the very worm in the gutter was but a
part of this man, something come to tell her of Him,--she dimly
felt; though, as I said, she had no words for such a thought.
Yet even more real than this. There was no pain nor temptation
down in those dark cellars where she went that He had not
borne,--not one. Nor was there the least pleasure came to her or
the others, not even a cheerful fire, or kind words, or a warm,
hearty laugh, that she did not know He sent it and was glad to do
it. She knew that well! So it was that He took part in her
humble daily life, and became more real to her day by day. Very
homely shadows her life gave of His light, for it was His:
homely, because of her poor way of living, and of the depth to
which the heavy foot of the world had crushed her. Yet they were
there all the time, in her cheery patience, if nothing more.
To-night, for instance, how differently the surging crowd seemed
to her from what it did to Knowles! She looked down on it from
her high wood-steps with an eager interest, ready with her weak,
timid laugh to answer every friendly call from below. She had no
power to see them as types of great classes; they were just so
many living people, whom she knew, and who, most of them, had
been kind to her. Whatever good there was in the vilest face,
(and there was always something,) she was sure to see it. The