CHAPTER VII.
THROUGH THE MIST.
THE year that followed was the saddest Christie had ever known,
for she suffered a sort of poverty which is more difficult to bear
than actual want, since money cannot lighten it, and the rarest
charity alone can minister to it. Her heart was empty and she could
not fill it; her soul was hungry and she could not feed it; life was
cold and dark and she could not warm and brighten it, for she knew
not where to go.
She tried to help herself by all the means in her power, and when
effort after effort failed she said: "I am not good enough yet to
deserve happiness. I think too much of human love, too little of
divine. When I have made God my friend perhaps He will let me find
and keep one heart to make life happy with. How shall I know God?
Who will tell me where to find Him, and help me to love and lean
upon Him as I ought?"
In all sincerity she asked these questions, in all sincerity she
began her search, and with pathetic patience waited for an answer.
She read many books, some wise, some vague, some full of
superstition, all unsatisfactory to one who wanted a living God. She
went to many churches, studied many creeds, and watched their fruits
as well as she could; but still remained unsatisfied.
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