"I have loved Him ever since I could speak His Holy Name. But He never now answers me; when I pray to Him the heavens seem to let my prayers fall back to me. Has He forgotten me?" "Jane, Jane, oh, Jane! What a question for you to ask! I could chide you for it. Have you forgotten the teaching of your Bible, and your catechism, of your good pastor, John Verity, and your father and mother? Do you believe for one moment that God has any abortive children? He has not. He is the father of such souls as, according to His appointment, come to perfection. If you have ever, for one moment, felt the love of the Ineffable Nameless One, I do assure you it is a love for all eternity! It is, Jane, it is, surely. He does not love and withdraw; no, no; we may deserve to be denied, we may deserve to be abandoned, but just because it is so, He seeks and He saves the children lost, or in danger." And then he stooped and dried her eyes with his kerchief, and seating her on a sofa, he brought a glass of wine, and said, "Drink, my dear; and as you drink, ask for strength no juice of earthly fruit can give. Do not pray for this thing, or that thing; if you will say only, ’Thy will be done,’ you will find mercy at need; you will indeed. I do know it." "All is so dark, sir." "And will be, till He says, ’Let there be light.’ I scruple not to say this." "Oh, sir, what shall I do? What shall I do?" "Put a blank into God’s hand, and tell Him to fill it as He chooses—Cluny or no Cluny, love, or death of love, joy or sorrow, just what He wills. In my judgment this is the way of Peace. Do you think, Jane, that I have chosen the path I now walk in? I have not, God knows it. God knows I would be a far happier man with my flocks in the Ouse meadows; I would, I say what is in my heart. Is this greatness laid on me for my glory and honour? Truly, it is only labour and sorrow. If I did not find mercy and strength at need, I should faint and utterly fail under the burden, for indeed I am the burden-bearer of all England this day. I need pity, I do need it; I need God’s pity, yes, and human pity also." There was the shadow of unshed tears in his sad, gray eyes, and an almost childlike pathos in his dropped head. Jane could not bear it. She stroked and kissed his big hand, and her tears fell down upon it. "I will go home," she said softly, "and pray for you. I will not pray for myself, but for you. I will ask God to stand at your right hand and your left hand, to beset you behind and before, and to lay His comforting, helping hand upon you. And you must not lose heart, sir, under your burden, because many that were with you have gone against you, or because there are constant plots to take your life. There is the ninetieth Psalm. It is yours, sir."