"I do not know, my child. He knows. He will see to it that thou art taught the right lesson, if only thou wilt have the patience to wait and learn." "Does God teach every body patience?" said I, sighing. "Indeed He does: and perhaps there is scarcely a lesson which we are more slow to learn." "I shall be slow enough to learn that lesson, I am sure!" said I. Lady Judith smiled. "Inattentive children are generally those that complain most of the hardness of their tasks," said she. We were both silent for a while, when Lady Judith said quietly— "Helena, what is Christ our Lord to thee?" "I am not sure that I understand you, holy Mother," said I. "Christ our Lord is God." "Good; but what is He _to thee_?" I felt puzzled. I did not know that He was any thing more to me than to every body else. "Dost thou not understand? Then tell me, what is Monseigneur the Count of Ascalon to thee?" "Guy?" asked I in a little surprise. "He is my own dear brother—the dearest being to me in all the world." "Then that is something different from what he is to others?" "Of course!" I said rather indignantly. "Guy could never be to strangers what he is to me! Why, holy Mother, with all deference, you yourself know that. He is not that to you." "Thou hast spoken the very truth," said she. "But, Helena, that which he is to thee, and not to me,—that dearest in all the world, ay, in all the universe,—my child, Christ is that to me." I looked at her, and I saw the soft, radiant light in the grey eyes: and I could not understand it. Again that strange, mortified feeling took possession of me. Lady Judith knew something I did not; she had something I had not; and it was something which made her happier than any thing had yet made me. There was a gulf between us; and I was on the rocky, barren side of it, and she on the one waving with corn and verdant with pasture. It was not at all a pleasant feeling. And I could see no bridge across the gulf. "You are a religious person, holy Mother," said I. "I suppose that makes the difference." Yet I did not believe that, though I said so. Old Marguerite was no nun; and she was on the flowery side of that great gulf, as well as Lady Judith. And if Lady Sybil were there also, she was no nun. That was not the difference. "No, maiden," was Lady Judith’s quiet answer. "Nor dost thou think so." I hung my head, and felt more mortified than ever. "Dost thou want to know it, Helena?" "Holy Mother, so much!" I said, bursting into tears. "You and Marguerite seem to me in a safe walled garden, guarded with men and towers; and I am outside in the open champaign, where the wolves are and the robbers, and I do not know how to get in to you. I have been round and round the walls, and I can see no gate."