As the day now approached on which she was to depart this life (which day Thou knew, we did not), it fell out — Thou, as I believe, by Your secret ways arranging it — that she and I stood alone, leaning in a certain window, from which the garden of the house we occupied at Ostia could be seen; at which place, removed from the crowd, we were resting ourselves for the voyage, after the fatigues of a long journey. We then were conversing alone very pleasantly; and, “forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before,” we were seeking between ourselves in the presence of the Truth, which You are, of what nature the eternal life of the saints would be, which eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither has entered into the heart of man. But yet we opened wide the mouth of our heart, after those supernal streams of Your fountain, “the fountain of life,” which is “with You”; that being sprinkled with it according to our capacity, we might in some measure weigh so high a mystery.
And when our conversation had arrived at that point, that the very highest
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