"I hope she might. But I think she will not. Ah, how I have hoped it! Helena, hast thou wondered how it is that nothing short of absolute impossibility will suffer me to depute to another the daily distribution of the dole at the postern gate to those poor women that come for alms? Canst thou not guess that amongst all the faces I look but for one—for the one that might creep in there unrecognised to look on me, and that must never, never go away with a soreness at her heart, saying, ’She was not there!’ Every loaf that I give to a stranger, I say, ’Pray for the soul of Agnes of Anjou!’ And then, if some day she should creep in among the rest, and I should not know her—ah! but I think I should, if it were only by the mother-hunger in the eyes—but if she should, and hear that, and yet not speak, she will say in her heart, ’Sybil loves me yet.’ And if she could only creep one step further,—’_God_ loves me yet!’ For He does, Helena. Maybe He has comforted her long ago: but if she should not have found it out, and be still stretching forth numb hands in the darkness—and if I could say it to her! Now thou knowest why I call the babe by her name. I know not where she is, nor indeed if she is on earth. But He knows. And He may let her hear it. If she come to know that I have called my child by her name, she may not feel quite so lost and lonely. I have no other way to say to her,—’I have not forgotten thee; nor has God. I love thee; I would fain help thee. He loves thee and is ready to save thee.’ Who can tell?—she _may_ hear." "Oh dear, this is a bad world!" said I. "Why are people so hard on each other? We are all fellow-sinners, I suppose." "Ah, Helena!" said Lady Sybil, with a sorrowful smile. "Hast thou not found, dear, that the greater sinner a man is himself, very generally, the harder he will be on other sinners—especially when their sins are of a different type from his own. The holier a man is, the more he hates sin, and yet the more tenderly will he deal with the sinner. For as sin means going away from God, so holiness must mean coming near God. And God is more merciful than men to all who come to Him for mercy." Lady Judith came in while the last words were being spoken. "I never can quite tell," said I, "what sin is. Why should some things be sin, and other things not be sin?" "Go on, Helena," said Lady Judith, turning round with a smile. "Why should so many things be wrong, which I like, and so many things be right, which I do not like?" "Well, holy Mother, it is something like that," said I, laughing. "Will you please to tell me why?" "Because, my child, thou hast inherited a sinful nature." "But I do not like sin—as sin," said I. "Then temptation has no power over thee. Is it so? Art thou never ’drawn away of thine own lust, and enticed’?" "Well, I am not perfect," said I. "I suppose nobody expects to be." "Yet without absolute perfection, Helena, thou canst never enter Heaven."