“You left me too suddenly last night。 Had you stayed but a little longer； you would have laid your hand on the Christian’s cross and the angel’s crown。 I shall expect your clear decision when I return this day fortnight。 Meantime； watch and pray that you enter not into temptation： the spirit； I trust； is willing； but the flesh； I see； is weak。 I shall pray for you hourly。—Yours； ST。 JOHN。”
“My spirit；” I answered mentally； “is willing to do what is right； and my flesh； I hope； is strong enough to acplish the will of Heaven； when once that will is distinctly known to me。 At any rate； it shall be strong enough to search—inquire—to grope an outlet from this cloud of doubt； and find the open day of certainty。”
It was the first of June； yet the morning was overcast and chilly： rain beat fast on my casement。 I heard the front…door open； and St。 John pass out。 Looking through the window； I saw him traverse the garden。 He took the way over the misty moors in the direction of Whitcross—there he would meet the coach。
“In a few more hours I shall succeed you in that track； cousin；” thought I： “I too have a coach to meet at Whitcross。 I too have some to see and ask after in England； before I depart for ever。”
It wanted yet two hours of breakfast…time。 I filled the interval in walking softly about my room； and pondering the visitation which had given my plans their present bent。 I recalled that inward sensation I had experienced： for I could recall it； with all its unspeakable strangeness。 I recalled the voice I had heard； again I questioned whence it came； as vainly as before： it seemed in me—not in the external world。 I asked was it a mere nervous impression—a delusion？ I could not conceive or believe： it was more like an inspiration。 The wondrous s