A strange thrill of awe passed through Maggie while she read，as if she had been awakened in the night by a strain of solemn music，telling of beings whose souls had been astir while hers was in stupor.She went on from one brown mark to another，where the quiet hand seemed to point，hardly conscious that she was readingseeming rather to listen while a low voice said：“Why dost thou here gaze about，since this is not theplace of thy rest？In heaven ought to be thy dwelling，and all earthly things are to be looked on as they forward thy journey thither.All things pass away，and thou together with them.Beware thou cleave not unto them，lest thou be entangled and perish ...If a man should give all his substance，yet it is as nothing.And，if he should do great penances，yet they are but little.And if he should attain to all knowledge，he is yet far off.And if he should be of great virtue，and very fervent devotion，yet is there much wantingto wit，one thing，which is most necessary forhim.What is that？That having left all，he leave himself，and go wholly out of himself，and retain nothing of selflove...I have often said unto thee，and now again I say the same：Forsake thyself，resign thyself，and thou shalt enjoy much inward peace...Then shall all vain imaginations，evil perturbations，and superfluous cares fly away；then shall immoderate fear leave thee，and inordinate love shall die.”
Maggie drew a long breath and pushed her heavy hair back as if to see a sudden vision more clearly.Here，then，was a secret of life that would enable her to renounce all other secrets；here was a sublime height to be reached without the help of outward things；here was insight，and strength and conquest，to be won by means entirely within her own soul，where a supreme Teacher was waiting to be heard.It flashed through her，like the suddenly apprehended solution of a problem，that all the miseries of her young life had come from fixing her heart on her own pleasure，as if that were the central necessity of the universe；and for the first time she saw the possibility of shifting the position from which she looked at the gratification of her own desires，of taking her stand out of herself，and looking at her own life as an insignificant part of a divinelyguided whole.She read on and on inthe old book，devouring eagerly the dialogues with theinvisible Teacher，the pattern of sorrow，the source of all strength，returning to it after she had been called away，and reading till the sun went down behind the willows.With all the hurry of an imagination that could never rest in the present，she sat in the deepening twilight，forming plans of selfhumiliation and entire devotedness；and，in the ardour of first discovery，renunciation seemed to her the entrance into that satisfaction which she had so long been craving in vain.She had not perceivedhow could she until she had lived longer？the inmost truth of the old monk’s outpourings，that renunciation remains sorrow，though a sorrow borne willingly.Maggie was still panting for happiness，and was in ecstasy because she had found the key to it.She knew nothing of doctrines and systemsof mysticism or quietism；but this voice out of the faroff Middle Ages was the direct communication of a human soul‘s belief and experience，and came to Maggie as an unquestioned message.
I suppose that is the reason why the small，oldfashioned book，for which you need pay only sixpence at a bookstall，works miracles to this day，turning bitter waters into sweetness；while expensive sermons and treatises，newly issued，leave all things as they were before.It was written down by a hand that waited for the heart’s prompting；it is the chronicle of a solitary hidden anguish，struggle，trust，and triumphnot written on velvet cushions to teach endurance to those who are treading with bleeding feet on the stones.And so it remains to all time a lasting record of human needs and human consolationsthe voice of a brother who，ages ago，felt and suffered and renounced in the cloister，perhaps，with serge gown and tonsured head，with much chanting and long fasts，and with a fashion of speech different from ours，but under the same silent faroff heavens，and with the same passionate desires，the same strivings，the same failures，the same weariness.
