That is what we invest it with.
"'Truth is within ourselves; it takes no rise From outward things, whate'er you may believe.'" Frona's eyes brightened, and she went on to complete the passage: "'There is an inmost centre in us all, Where truth abides in fulness; and around.' "And--and--how does it go?
I have forgotten." "'Wall upon wall, the gross flesh hems it in--'" The woman ceased abruptly, her voice trilling off into silvery laughter with a certain bitter reckless ring to it which made Frona inwardly shiver.

She moved as though to go back to her dogs, but the woman's hand went out in a familiar gesture,--twin to Frona's own,--which went at once to Frona's heart.
"Stay a moment," she said, with an undertone of pleading in the words, "and talk with me.

It is long since I have met a woman"-- she paused while her tongue wandered for the word--"who could quote 'Paracelsus.' You are,--I know you, you see,--you are Jacob Welse's daughter, Frona Welse, I believe." Frona nodded her identity, hesitated, and looked at the woman with secret intentness.

She was conscious of a great and pardonable curiosity, of a frank out-reaching for fuller knowledge.

This creature, so like, so different; old as the oldest race, and young as the last rose-tinted babe; flung far as the farthermost fires of men, and eternal as humanity itself--where were they unlike, this woman and she?
Her five senses told her not; by every law of life they were no; only, only by the fast-drawn lines of social caste and social wisdom were they not the same.