Just how she sensed this Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool could not have explained, nor could Zora.
Was there a change, sudden, cataclysmic? No.
There were to come in future days all the old doubts and shiverings, the old restless cry: ‚ÄúIt is all right‚ÅÝ‚Äîall right!‚Äù
But more and more, above the doubt and beyond the unrest, rose the great end, the mighty ideal, that flickered and wavered, but ever grew and waxed strong, until it became possible, and through it all things else were possible.
Thus from the grave of youth and love, amid the soft, low singing of dark and bowed worshippers, the Angel of the Resurrection rolled away the stone.
‚ÄúWhat is the matter, Zora?‚Äù Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool repeated.
Zora looked up, almost happily‚ÅÝ‚Äîstanding poised on her feet as if to tell of strength and purpose.
“I have found the Way,” she cried joyously.
Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool gave her a long searching look.
“Where have you been?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting.”
‚ÄúI‚Äôm sorry‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut I‚Äôve been‚ÅÝ‚Äîconverted.‚Äù And she told her story.
‚ÄúPshaw, Zora!‚Äù Mrs. ¬ÝVanderpool uttered impatiently. ‚ÄúHe‚Äôs a fakir.‚Äù
“Maybe,” said Zora serenely and quietly; “but he brought the Word.”