"But it is hard for them sometimes," said the little Pilgrim, who could not withdraw her thoughts from those she had left. "They are never forsaken," said the angel-maiden. "But oh! there are worse things than sorrow," the little Pilgrim said; "there is wrong, there is evil, Margaret. Will not He send you to step in before them, to save them from wrong?" "It is not for us to judge," said the young Margaret, with eyes full of heavenly wisdom. "Our Brother has it all in His hand. We do not read their hearts like Him. Sometimes you are permitted to see the battle." The little Pilgrim covered her eyes with her hands. "I could not--I could not! unless I knew they were to win the day." "They will win the day in the end. But sometimes, when it was being lost, I have seen in His face a something--I cannot tell--more love than before. Something that seemed to say, 'My child, my child, would that I could do it for thee, my child!'" "Oh! that is what I have always felt," cried the Pilgrim, clasping her hands; her eyes were dim, her heart for a moment almost forgot its blessedness. "But He could--Oh, little Margaret! He could! You have forgotten--Lord, if Thou wilt Thou canst--" The child of heaven looked at her mutely, with sweet grave eyes, in which there was much that confused her who was a stranger here; and once more softly shook her head. "Is it that He will not, then?" said the other with a low voice of awe. "Our Lord who died--He--" "Listen," said the other, "I hear His step on the way."