The Allen House; Or, Twenty Years Ago and Now. Arthur Timothy Shay

as if my remark had touched some hidden spring of thought.

      “If we are right with ourselves,” I went on, “the disturbance produced by others’ misconduct will not reach very far down. The pressure of sadness may lie upon us for a season; but cannot long remain; for the pure heart will lift itself into serene atmospheres.”

      “But, who is right with himself?” she said. “Whose heart is pure enough to dwell in these serene atmospheres? Not mine, alas!”

      I looked into the suddenly illuminated face as she put these questions, in surprise at the quick change which had passed over it. But the tone in which she uttered the closing sentence was touched with tender sadness.

      “Rather let me say,” I made answer, “in the degree that we are right with ourselves. None attain unto perfection here.”