discords between the inner and the outer life—discords that hurt, and wail forth in tears.
There came, at length, the dawn when the harsh crust of rebelliousness cracked and fell to pieces, and the flower of self-surrender came through and held up its dew-washed face. Damini’s service became so beautiful in its truth that it descended on the devotees like the blessing of the very Divinity of their devotions.
And when Damini’s lightning flashes had matured into a steady radiance, Satish looked on her and saw that she was beautiful; but I say this, that Satish gazed only on her beauty, failing to see Damini herself.
In Satish’s room there hung a portrait of the Swami sitting in meditation, done on a porcelain medallion. One day he found it on the floor,—in fragments. He put it down to his pet cat. But other little mischiefs began to follow, which were clearly beyond the powers of the cat. There was some kind of disturbance in the air, which now and again broke out in unseen electric shocks.
How others felt, I know not, but a growing pain gnawed at my heart. Sometimes I thought that this constant ecstasy of emotion was proving too much for me. I wanted to give it all up
