Each blade of grass, each tree
and rock and brook, was something more than a mere blade or tree or
rock or brook,--something so much more strange and beautiful that it
almost made her tremble with ecstasy to see.
"Now you can see," said the voice; "before you were blind. Now you
understand what I meant when I said the objects one sees are of
themselves nothing; it is what they represent that is grand and
glorious and beautiful. A flower is lovely, but it is not half so
lovely as the thing it suggests--but I can't expect you to understand
_that_. Even when you were blind you used to love the ocean. Now that
you can see, do you know why? It is because it is an emblem of God's
love, deep and mighty and strong and beautiful beyond words. And so
with the mountains, and so with the smallest weed that grows. But we
must look at other things before you go back--"
"Oh, dear!" faltered Marjorie, "when I go back shall I be blind again?
How does one see clear when one goes back?"
"Through truth," answered the beam, briefly.
But just then Marjorie found herself looking at some new sights. "What
are these?" she whispered tremblingly.
"The _proofs_ of some pictures you will remember to have half seen,"
replied the beam.
And sure enough! with a start of amaze and wonder she saw before her
eyes the people who had sat in the crowded gallery with her before she
had left it to journey here with her sunbeam guide; but, oh! with such
a difference.
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