She started; then sayd, "Could I be more usefull? more harmless? less exposed to temptation? or half so happy as I am now? In sooth, Meg, the time has been when methought, how sweet ye living death of the cloister! How good that must needs be which had the suffrages of Chrysostom the golden-mouthed, and holy Ambrose, and our own Anselm! How peacefull, to take wing like ye dove, and fly away from a naughty world, and be at rest! How brave, to live alone, like St. Antony, in the desert! only, I would have had some books with me in my cave, and 'tis uncertayn whether St. Antony had knowledge of letters, beyond ye heaven-taught lesson, 'God is love' ... for methought so much reflection and no action would be too much for a woman's mind to bear--I might goe mad: and I remembered me how the dove that gladly flew away from the ark, gladly flew back, and abode in ye ark till such time as a new home was ready for her. And methought, cannot I live apart from sin here, and now; and as to sorrow, where can we live apart from that? Sure, we may live on ye skirts of the world in a spiritt as truly unwordlie as though we were altogether out of it: and here I may come and go, and range in the fresh air, and love other folks' children, and read my Psalter, and pore over the sayings of the wise men of old, and look on the faces I love, and sit at the feet of Sir Thomas More. Soe, there, Meg, are my poor reasons for not caring to be a nun. Our deare Lord is in himself all that our highest, holiest affections can seek or comprehend; for he made these our hearts; he gave us these our affections; and through them the Spirit speaks. Aspiring to their source, they rise up like the white smoke and bright flame; while, on earth, if left unmastered, they burn, suffocate, and destroy. Yet they have their naturall and innocent outlets even here; and a woman may warm herself by them without scorching, and yet be neither a wife nor a nun." * * * * * Ever since father's speech to us in ye pavillion, we have beene of one heart and one soul; neither have any of us said that aught of the things we possessed were our own, but we have had all things in common. And we have eaten our meat with gladness and singleness of heart. This afternoon, expressing to father my gratefull sense of our present happiness.... "Yes, Meg," returns he, "I, too, am deeply thankful for this breathing space." "Do you look on it as no more, then?" I sayd. "As no more, Meg: we shall have a thunder-clap by-and-by. Look out on the Thames. See how unwontedlie clear it is, and how low the swallows fly.... How distinctlie we see the green sedges on Battersea bank, and their reflected images in the water. We can almost discern the features of those poor knaves digging in the cabbage gardens, and hear 'em talk, so still is ye air. Have you ne'er before noted these signs?" "A storm is brewing," I sayd.