"Some such I fear there may have often been, madam; but I was not thinking of those that could fall into such a snare as being proud of the ill-will of their brethren. I was thinking of some who felt the ill opinion of their brethren to be very humbling, and who humbled themselves to bear it. Then in time they had comfort in forgiving their enemies, and at last they grew fit for a sweeter pleasure still which yet remained. Not that, as I believe, they spoke of it, unless at moments when the joy would speak for itself; but then it has been known to burst forth from the lips of the persecuted--from some as cruelly persecuted as you, madam, that of all the thrillings that God's spirit makes in men's hearts, there is none so sweet as the first stirrings of the love of enemies." There was no answer, and Annie went on. "I could believe that there is no love so altogether good--at least for us here. It is as yearning as that of a mother for her child, and as tender as that of lovers; and I should say, more holy than either, for theirs is natural to them in their mortal life, though it may be the purest part of it; the other love is an instinct belonging to the immortal life, a tongue of fire, sent down upon the head of a chosen one here and there, gifting them with the language of angels, to tell us on this side the grave what we shall find beyond. One must see that to such as these the wicked have ceased from troubling, and their weariness has long sunk into rest without help from death." Lady Carse sighed. "This was why I was glad, madam, to hear that death had not overtaken you yet. If you may enter into a living rest which we may see, that will, under God's blessing, be better than the blank rest of going away from your enemies, when their old wrongs may be still in your heart, making death a stinging serpent instead of a guiding dove." Some sweet old words here occurred to Lady Carse, linked with a sweet old psalm tune--words of longing to have wings like a dove, to flee away and be at rest. She murmured these words; and they brought softening tears. "You see, madam," said Annie, "your nest is made for you. You have been permitted to flee away from your enemies! now you are not to have wings, for the sails of the vessels are out of sight, and this makes it plain that here is to be your nest. It is but a stormy place to abide in, to be sure; but if Christ be sought, He is here to command peace, and the winds and the sea obey Him." "I cannot stay here," sobbed Lady Carse. "I cannot give up my hopes and my efforts--the only aim of my life." "It _is_ hard," said the widow, with starting tears. "The last thing that a mother can give up,--the very last thing she can lay freely into God's hand is her yearning for her children. But you will--" "It is not my children that I most want. You say falsely that they are the last to be given up. There is--"