"Did you?" I said, and my voice sounded hard and cold to my own ears. "I take the liberty of doubting whether you and I give that name to the same thing." The light gleamed and flashed, softened and darkened, then shot out again from those wonderful, beautiful eyes. "And you won't forgive me?" she said, in a soft sad voice. How she can govern that voice, to be sure! "Forgive you? Yes," I answered. "But trust you? No. I think never again, my Lady Parmenter." "You will be sorry some day that you did not." Was it a regret? was it a threat? The voice conveyed neither, and might have stood for both. I looked up again, but she had vanished, and where she had been the moment before stood Mr Raymond. "A penny for your thoughts, Miss Courtenay." "You shall have my past thoughts, if you please," said I, trying to speak lightly. "I would rather not sell my present ones at the price." He smiled, and drew out a new penny. "Then let me make the less valuable purchase." Even Mr Raymond was a welcome change from her. "Then tell me, Mr Raymond," said I, "do things ever happen exactly as one wishes them to do?" "Once in a thousand times, perhaps," said he. "I should imagine, though, that the occasion usually comes after long waiting and bitter pain. Generally there is something to remind us that this is not our rest." "Why?" I said, and I heard my soul go into the word. "Why not?" answered he, pithily. "Is the servant so much greater than his Lord that he may reasonably look for things to be otherwise? Cast your mind's eye over the life of Christ our Master, and see on how many occasions matters happened in a way which you would suppose entirely to His liking? Can you name one?" I thought, and could not see anything, except when He did a miracle, or when He spent a night in prayer to God.