In the love of a woman to the man who is of no
account God has provided us with a true testimony of what is in His
own heart. I often felt this when looking at myself and at Ellen.
"What is there in me?" I have said, "is she not the victim of some
self-created deception?" and I was wretched till I considered that in
her I saw the Divine Nature itself, and that her passion was a stream
straight from the Highest. The love of woman is, in other words, a
living witness never failing of an actuality in God which otherwise
we should never know. This led me on to connect it with
Christianity; but I am getting incoherent and must stop.
My employment now was so incessant, for it was still necessary that I
should write for my newspaper--although my visits to the House of
Commons had perforce ceased--that I had no time for any schemes or
dreams such as those which had tormented me when I had more leisure.
In one respect this was a blessing. Destiny now had prescribed for
me. I was no longer agitated by ignorance of what I ought to do. My
present duty was obviously to get my own living, and having got that,
I could do little besides save continue the Sundays with M'Kay.
We were almost entirely alone.
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