"Oh, excuse me. But you know I will mourn, being so blinded and carnal. Mamma, let me have it in plain English. What sacrifice am I to be called upon to make now? Is it you, or my home, or what?" "Both, my child, if you will put it so--I cannot make it easy." Missy started to her feet, and stood very pale beside her mother's sofa. "You have shown so little sympathy with St. John's plans, that I have been unable to ask you to share in their discussion, as day after day they have matured. You know the house belongs to him, he has given up all--you can see what it involves." "I see, and his mother is to be turned out of house and home, to satisfy his ultra piety." "Missy, let me speak quickly, and have done. I cannot bear this any better than you. It is impossible for me to give myself up as St. John has given himself. I have no longer youth and health to offer. But there is one thing I can do, and that is not to stand in his way--and another. Hear me patiently, Missy; I know it will be pain to you; I am going to identify myself with his work in a certain way." "You! What am I hearing? Are you going to India, to Africa?--I am prepared for anything." "No, Missy. Your brother's India is very near at hand. His order are establishing a house in one of the worst parts of the city. Next to the church which they have bought--" "With his money," interpolated Missy. "With his money, if you choose; next to the church which they have bought--there is a house which I am going to buy. It may be the starting point for the work of a sisterhood, it may be a refuge, a shelter for whoever needs refuge or shelter. It is given--its uses will be shown if God accepts it." "And you?" said Missy, in a smothered voice, standing still and white-faced before her. "And I--am going to live there, Missy, and do the work that God appoints me, or bear the inaction that He deems to be my part. It is a poor offering and no sacrifice, for it is the life I crave. Only as to the suffering I lay on you, I shrink from. God knows, if you could only sympathise with me and go too--what a weight would be lifted off my heart;--but I feel I cannot hope for that. It is always open to you, and I shall always pray that it may come to pass, and we shall not really be separated so very much. I shall not, perhaps, be bound by any rule, and if my health suffers or if you need me ever, I shall always be free to come to you--" "Let me understand," said Missy, in an unnatural voice, sitting down upon the nearest chair. "You go too fast for me. Where am I to be, when you are to feel free to come to me? This house is no longer to be our home, you say. What is to be my home? What plans, if any, have you made for me? Don't go any further, please, till I comprehend the situation of things a little better. This staggers me, and I--don't know exactly what it all means."