Now in the new world in which I found myself, I approached the thoughts of beauty and loveliness direct, without any intervening symbols at all.  The emotions which beautiful things had aroused in me upon earth were all there, in the new life, but not confused or blurred, as they had been in the old life, by the intruding symbols of ugly, painful, evil things.  That was all gone like a mist.  I could not think an evil or an ugly thought.

For a period it was so with me.  For a long time—­I will use the words of earth henceforth without any explanation—­I abode in the same calm, untroubled peace, partly in memory of the old days, partly in the new visions.  My senses seemed all blended in one sense; it was not sight or hearing or touch—­it was but an instant apprehension of the essence of things.  All that time I was absolutely alone, though I had a sense of being watched and tended in a sort of helpless and happy infancy.  It was always the quiet sea, and the dawning light.  I lived over the scenes of the old life in a vague, blissful memory.  For the joy of the new life was that all that had befallen me had a strange and perfect significance.  I had lived like other men.  I had rejoiced, toiled, schemed, suffered, sinned.  But it was all one now.  I saw that each influence had somehow been shaping and moulding me.  The evil I had done, was it indeed evil?  It had been the flowering of a root of bitterness, the impact of material forces and influences.  Had I ever desired it?  Not in my spirit, I now felt.  Sin had brought me shame and sorrow, and they had done their work.  Repentance, contrition—­ugly words!  I laughed softly at the thought of how different it all was from what I had dreamed.  I was as the lost sheep found, as the wayward son taken home; and should I spoil my joy with recalling what was past and done with for ever?  Forgiveness was not a process, then, a thing to be sued for and to be withheld; it was all involved in the glad return to the breast of God.

What was the mystery, then?  The things that I had wrought, ignoble, cruel, base, mean, selfish—­had I ever willed to do them?  It seemed impossible, incredible.  Were those grievous things still growing, seeding, flowering in other lives left behind?  Had they invaded, corrupted, hurt other poor wills and lives?  I could think of them no longer, any more than I could think of the wrongs done to myself.  Those had not hurt me either.  Perhaps I had still to suffer, but I could not think of that.  I was too much overwhelmed with joy.  The whole thing seemed so infinitely little and far away.  So for a time I floated on the moving crystal of the translucent sea, over the glimmering deeps, the dawn above me, the scenes of the old life growing and shaping themselves and fading without any will of my own, nothing within or without me but ineffable peace and perfect joy.

II