"Elaine, I could not spare thee this pain. If I had done, in the end it would have been worse for thee. Look upon My hands and My feet, and see if I spared Myself, and, remembering that this was for thy sake, say whether, if it had been possible, I would not have spared thee!" I cannot tell whether I was dreaming or awake. But I crept to the foot of the ladder, and I said to Him who stood above it— "Fair Father, Jesu Christ, I put myself in Thy mercy.[#] I see now that I was foolish and ignorant. It was not that Thou wert cruel. It was not that Thou didst not care. Thou dost care. At every pang that rent my heart, Thine heart was touched too. Forgive me, for Sybil has done, and I have sinned more against Thee than against her. Teach me in future to give up my will, and to wish only to do Thine." [#] A rebel, who returned to his allegiance unconditionally, was said to "put himself in the King’s mercy." I am afraid it was a very poor prayer. There was no Angelus nor Confiteor—not even an Ave in it. Yet was it all a dream, that a voice said to me, "Thy sins are forgiven thee: go in peace"? And I sank into dreamless sleep the next instant. It is all settled now. Next week, I shall be professed of Lady Judith’s Order,—an Order which will just suit my wants, since the nuns have no abbess over them, are bound only by terminable vows, and (with assent of the community) may dwell where they think fit, even in their own homes if need be. Lady Judith thinks that she can easily obtain leave for me to dwell with Monseigneur, as she will kindly represent it to the Order that he is now an old man, and has no wife nor unmarried daughter to care for him but me. I think he is my first duty now. And I know he will be so glad, so glad! It will be hard to part with Guy and Sybil. But I think that is where the Lord is leading me,—home to Lusignan; and I do wish to follow His leading, not my own. Old Marguerite startled me very much last night. "Damoiselle," she said, "the cross is shining out at last." "Where, Margot?" said I, rather puzzled. "Where I have so longed to see it," she said, "on my darling’s brow. Ah, the good God has not brought her through the fire for nothing! Where there used to be pride and mirth in her eyes, there is peace. He will let His old servant depart now, for it was all she had to live for." But I can never, never do without her! Oh, I do hope the good God will not take dear old Marguerite. Why, I am only just beginning to understand and value her. But I think I am learning, very slowly,—Oh, I am so slow and stupid!—that real happiness lies not in having my way, but in being satisfied with His,—not in trying to make myself happy, but in trying to please Him. I am constantly fancying that I have so learned this lesson that I shall never forget it again. And then, within an hour, I find myself acting as though I had never heard of it.