"To tell you the truth, Patient, while I quite see with you in the main, I think you a little severe in the particular." "I do not doubt it, Madam. The Lord knoweth how to deaden your heart unto this world, and He can do it a deal better than I. But if you be His (the which I doubt not), it must needs be." "I have scarce a choice now," said Celia, in a low voice, feeling doubtful how far she ought to make any remark to Patient which might seem to reflect on Lady Ingram. "That I perceive, Madam," answered Patient, in the same tone. "Only--if you will condescend to pardon the liberty I take in saying it--take heed that the pleasing and obeying of man clash not with the pleasing and obeying of God. 'For all that is in the world--the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eye, and the pride of life--is not of the Father, but is of the world.'"[5] "Patient, there is one thing which I feel very much here--the want of a Protestant service." "I used to feel that very sore, Madam. Not that I miss it not now, 'specially at times: yet scarce, me thinks, so sadly as I once did. At first I was much exercised with that word, 'Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together;'[6] and I marvelled whether I ought to remain in this place. But I began to think that it was not I that had forsaken mine own land, but the Lord which hath caused me to be cast out thence; I having, moreover, passed a solemn word to my dear Lady when she lay a-dying, that I would not leave Master Edward his lone in this strange land while he was yet a bairn. Then me thought of some words of Mr. Grey in that last sermon he ever preached. 'A soldier,' quoth he, 'hath no right to choose his position.' So now, seeing that since the Dragonnades, as they called the persecution here, there is no worship permitted to be had, and also that the Lord, and not I, hath placed me here, I am content. Every Sabbath, ay, every day, He preacheth unto me in the Word, and there is no finer discourse than His." "What persecution, Patient?" asked Celia, as she lay down on her pillow. "This King hath never been a persecutor, hath he?" "Ay hath he, Madam. The morn, if it please you, I will tell you some stories of the Dragonnades. My Lady hath given me further work to do for you; and if you think meet, I can bring my sewing into your closet as aforetime." "Pray do, Patient: I like your stories. Good-night." "Good-night, Madam, and the Lord be with you!" "Your very obedient servant, Mrs. Celia Ingram," observed Mr. Philip, lounging into his sister's boudoir the next morning. "I hope your early rising has done you no harm." "I rose at my usual hour, which is six." "I rose at _my_ usual hour, which is nine." "O Philip!" cried Celia, laughing.