The sea seemed trying to make her ready. Each wave which beat upon the
rocks beat against her consciousness, driving against her mood and
spirit, as if clearing a way, making her ready, open, to what would come.
It seemed finally to have cleared her whole being, driven away all which
might impede. It seemed now as though she could take in things not seen
or heard. There was that strange openness of the spirit, that hush, that
unreasoning expectancy.
All at once it rushed upon her, filling her overwhelmingly. It said that
there was a sea mightier than what she called the sea of fate; it told of
a sea of human souls over which fate only seemed to prevail. A great rush
of truth filled her with this--It was the belief in the omnipotence of
fate which was the real delusion of the spirit.
Over and over again, with steadily rising tide, it told her that,--no
more to be reasoned away than the sea, resistless as the tide.
She never knew in after years just what it was happened in that hour.
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