I stood motionless under my hierophant’s touch. My refusals were forgotten⁠—my fears overcome⁠—my wrestlings paralysed. The Impossible⁠— i.e. , my marriage with St. John⁠—was fast becoming the Possible. All was changing utterly with a sudden sweep. Religion called⁠—Angels beckoned⁠—God commanded⁠—life rolled together like a scroll⁠—death’s gates opening, showed eternity beyond: it seemed, that for safety and bliss there, all here might be sacrificed in a second. The dim room was full of visions.

“Could you decide now?” asked the missionary. The inquiry was put in gentle tones: he drew me to him as gently. Oh, that gentleness! how far more potent is it than force! I could resist St. John’s wrath: I grew pliant as a reed under his kindness. Yet I knew all the time, if I yielded now, I should not the less be made to repent, some day, of my former rebellion. His nature was not changed by one hour of solemn prayer: it was only elevated.