“If it be true as you say,—” she was speaking with the passionate bitterness of wounded youth,—“if it be true that in his place anyone would have believed what he believed, then is this a very hateful world and I want no further part in it.” Over the fragrant leaves which she was touching as fondly as if they had been children’s faces, Sister Wynfreda gently shook her head. “Think not that it is altogether through the world’s evil-heartedness, dear child. Think rather that it is because mankind is not always brave and shrinks from disappointment, that it dares not believe in good until good is proved.” “I know that one dares not always believe in happiness,” the girl conceded slowly, “for when my happiness was like a green swelling wave, white fear sprang from the crest of it and it fell—Sister, did that forebode my sorrow?” Awhile, the nun’s eyes widened and paled as eyes that see a vision, but at last she bowed her head to trace a cross upon her breast. “Not so; it is God’s wisdom,” she said, “else would the world be so beautiful that we would never hunger after heaven.” Mechanically, Randalin’s hands followed hers through the holy sign; then she clasped them before her to wring them in impatient pain. “That is so long to go hungry, Sister! I shall be past my appetite.” Dropping down beside the other, her slim young fingers began to imitate the gnarled old ones as they weeded and straightened. “I wonder at it, Sister Wynfreda, that you do not urge me to creep in with you. A year ago, you wanted it when I wanted it not; but now when I am willing, you hold me off.” “Is it clear before your mind that you are willing, my daughter?” the nun asked gently. As she drew herself to her feet with the aid of a bush, the cramping of her feeble stiffened muscles contracted her face in momentary pain, but her eyes were serene as the altar lamps. “It lies upon you to remember, little sister, that those who would serve God around the altar must not go thither only because the world has mistreated them and they would cast it off to avenge the smart. She who puts on the yoke of Christ must needs do so because it is the thing she would desire of all, were all precious things spread out for her choosing. Can you look into my eyes and say that it would be so with you?” Where she knelt before her, the girl suddenly threw her arms around the woman and hid her face in the faded robes. The frail hand stroked the dark hair affectionately. “Think not that I would upbraid you with it, child as dear as my own heart. When the Power that took you from me led you back again, and I read what God’s fingers had written on your face that before was like a lineless parchment, I could not find it in my mind to wish you otherwise. I felt only shame for the weakness of my faith, and joy past all telling.”