been proud of; such a one as he would have liked to stand by his side anywhere; one that he need not have feared to present in any society. Diana strove for it, and that although Evan would never know it, and it did not in the least concern him. And as she felt from time to time that she was attaining her end and coming nearer and nearer to what she wished to be, Diana was glad with a secret joy, which was not the love of knowledge, nor the pride of personal ambition, nor the duty of an affectionate wife. As I said, she did not recognise it; if she had, I think she would have tried to banish it. One afternoon she was sitting by her table at the study window, where she had been very busy, but was not busy now. The window was open; the warm summer air came in, and over the hills and the lowland the brilliance and glow of the evening sunlight was just at its brightest. Diana sat gazing out, while her thoughts went wandering. Suddenly she pulled them up; and her question was rather a departure, though standing in a certain negative connection with them. "Basil, I can't make out just what _faith_ is." "Cannot you?" "No. Can you help me? The Bible says, '_believe_,' '_believe_.' I believe. I believe everything it tells me, and you tell me; but I have not faith." "How do you know that?" "If I had, I should be a Christian." "And you think you are not?" "I am sure I am not." "Are you willing?" "I think--I am willing," Diana answered slowly, looking out into the sunlight. "If you are right, then faith must be something more than mere belief." "What more is it?" she said eagerly, turning her face towards him now. "I think the heart has its part in it as well as the head, and it is with the heart that the difficulty lies. In true Bible faith, the heart gives its confidence where the intellect has given its assent. '_With the heart_ man believeth unto righteousness.' That is what the Lord wants;--our personal trust in him; unreserved and limitless trust." "Trust?" said Diana. "Then why cannot I give it? why don't I?" "That is the question to be answered. But, Di, the heart cannot yield that confident trust, so long as there is any point in dispute between it and God; so long as there is any consciousness of holding back something from him or refusing something to him. Disobedience and trust cannot go together. It is not the child who is standing out in rebellion who can stretch out his hand for his father's gifts, and know that they will be given." "Do you think I am rebelling, Basil?" "I cannot see into your heart, Di." "What could I be 'holding back' from God?" "Unconditional surrender." "Surrender of what?" "Yourself--your will. When you have made that surrender, there will be no difficulty about trusting. There never is."