It is not by driving away our brother that we can be alone with God.

Thomas's plaid could not isolate him with his Maker, for communion with God is never isolation.

In such a mood, the chamber with the shut door shuts out God too, and one is left alone with himself, which is the outer darkness.
The love of the brethren opens the door into God's chamber, which is within ours.

So Thomas--who was far enough from hating his brother, who would have struggled to his feet and limped to do him a service, though he would not have held out his hand to receive one, for he was only good, not gracious--Thomas, I say, felt worse than ever, and more as if God had forgotten him, than he had felt for many a day.

He knelt still and sighed sore.
At length another knock came, which although very gentle, he heard and knew well enough.
"Who's there ?" he asked, notwithstanding, with a fresh access of indignant feeling.
"Annie Anderson," was the answer through the door, in a tone which at once soothed the ruffled waters of Thomas's spirit.
"Come in," he said.
She entered, quiet as a ghost.
"Come awa', Annie.