"`Mon sort n'est pas a plaindre, Il est a desirer; Je n'ai plus rien a craindre, Car Dieu est mon Berger.'" "But, Mrs Dolly-- I suppose it can't be so, yet--it does seem as if there were some things in life which the Lord Jesus did not go through." "What things, my dear?" "Well, we never read of His having any kind of sickness for one thing." "Are you sure of that? `Himself took our infirmities, and bare our sicknesses,' looks very like the opposite. You and I have no idea, Phoebe, how He spent thirty out of thirty-three years of His mortal life. He may--mind, I don't say it was so, for I don't know--but He may have spent much of them in a sick chamber. He was `in _all_ points tempted like as we are.' My father used to tell me that the word there rendered `tempted' signifies not only temptations of Satan, but trials sent of God." "But--He was never a woman, Mrs Dolly." "And therefore cannot feel for a woman as though He had been,--is that thy meaning, dear? Nay, Phoebe, I believe He was the only creature that ever dwelt on earth in whom were the essential elements both of man and woman. He took His flesh of the woman only. The best part of each was in Him,--the strength and intelligence of the man, the love and tenderness of the woman. 'Tis modish to say women are tender, Phoebe; more modish than true. Many are soft, but few are tender. But He was tenderness itself." "I don't think women always are tender," said Phoebe. "My dear," said Mrs Dorothy, "you may laugh at me, but I am very much out of conceit with my own sex. A good woman is a very precious thing, Phoebe; the rather since 'tis so rare. But an empty, foolish, frivolous woman is a sad, sad sight to see. Methinks I could scarce bear with such, but for four words that I see, as it were, graven on their brows,--`For whom Christ died.'" "Very good!" said Mrs Latrobe. "I will not conceal from you, Phoebe, that I am extreme gratified with this decision of Lady Betty. I trust she will carry it out." Phoebe felt a good deal surprised. Lady Betty had been the only inmate of the Lodge whose society her mother had apparently cared to cultivate, and yet she expressed herself much pleased to hear of her probable departure. She remembered, too, that Mrs Dorothy had expected Mrs Latrobe's assent. To herself it was a mystery.