To the wilderness and to the deep sea, Faith's thought and almost her eye went, and she took some time to consider the subject. "I suppose--" she said thoughtfully--"I don't know, Mr. Linden." "Did you ever consider those words which close the account of the Creation--'God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good'." "That is what I was going to say!" she said modestly but with brightening colour,--"that perhaps he made all those things, those you spoke of, for _himself?_" "For himself--to satisfy the perfectness of his own character. And think how different the divine and the human standards of perfection! Not the outward fair colour and proportion merely, not the perfect fitness and adaptation, not the most utilitarian employment of every grain of dust, so that nothing is lost,--not even the grandest scale of working, is enough; but the dust on the moth's wing must be plumage, and the white chalk cliffs must be made of minute shells, each one of which shines like spun silver or is figured like cut glass. Not more steadily do astronomers discover new worlds, than the microscope reveals some new perfection of detail and finish in our own." Faith listened, during this speech, like one literally seeing 'into space,' as far as an embodied spirit can, for the first time. Then with a smile, a little sorrowful, she brought up with, "I don't know anything of all that, Mr. Linden! Do you mean that chalk is really made of little shells?" "Yes, really--and blue mould is like a miniature forest. You will know about it"--he said with a smile. "But do you see how this touches the standard of moral perfection?--how it explains that other word, 'Be ye also perfect'." Faith had not seen before, but she did now; for in her face the answer flashed most eloquently. She was silent. "That is the sort of perfection we are promised," Mr. Linden went on presently,--"that is the sort of perfection we shall see. Now, both glass and eye are imperfect,--specked, and flawed, and short-sighted; and can but faintly discern 'the balancings of the clouds, the wondrous works of him that is perfect in knowledge.' But then!-- 'When sin no more obstructs our sight, When sorrow pains our hearts no more, How shall we view the Prince of Light, And all his works of grace explore! What heights and depths of love divine Will then through endless ages shine!'" The words moved her probably, for she sat with her face turned a little away so that its play or its gravity were scarce so well revealed. Not very long however. The silence lasted time enough to let her thoughts come back to the subject never very far from them. "You are tired, Mr. Linden." "By what chain of reasoning, Miss Faith?" "I know by the sound of your voice. And you eat nothing to-day. Do you like cocoa, Mr. Linden?" she added eagerly. He smiled a little and answered yes. "Then I shall bring you some!"