At this moment she would have suffered anything, faced death cheerfully--she contemplated even the old woman upstairs with pity--for was it not piteous that death should not bring her to herself and reality?
She was in a quiet whirl of intoxication; it was as if the heavy veil of sense had rolled back at last and shown a sweet, eternal landscape behind--a shadowless land of peace where the lion lay down with the lamb, and the leopard with the kid.

There should be war no more: that bloody spectre was dead, and with him the brood of evil that lived in his shadow--superstition, conflict, terror, and unreality.

The idols were smashed, and rats had run out; Jehovah was fallen; the wild-eyed dreamer of Galilee was in his grave; the reign of priests was ended.

And in their place stood a strange, quiet figure of indomitable power and unruffled tenderness....

He whom she had seen--the Son of Man, the Saviour of the world, as she had called Him just now--He who bore these titles was no longer a monstrous figure, half God and half man, claiming both natures and possessing neither; one who was tempted without temptation, and who conquered without merit, as his followers said.