them which sat about Him, and said,
Behold My mother and My brethren! For whosoever shall do the will of
God, the same is My brother, and My sister, and mother.'"

"I dare say He kissed His mother!" said the low plaintive voice. She
evidently knew of whom the reader spoke. "The world giveth not much
peace. `Heavy-laden!' ay, heavy-laden! `Thou hast removed from me
friend and neighbour.' I have lost my liberty, and I am losing my life;
and now--God have mercy on me!--I have lost my son."

"Dame, will you take for your son the Lord that died for you? He offers
Himself to you. `The same is My mother.' He will give you not love
only, but a son's love, and that warm and undying. `With perpetual
charity I delighted in thee,' He saith; `wherefore, pitying, I drew thee
to Me.' Oh, my daughter, let Him draw thee!"

"What you will, Father," was the low answer. "I have no bodily
strength; pray you, make not the penance heavier than I can do.
Elsewise, what you will. My will is broken; nothing matters any more
now. I scarce thought it should have so been--at the end. Howbeit,
God's will be done. It must be done."

"My daughter, `this is the will of God, your sanctification.' The end
and object of all penances, of all prayers, is that you may be joined to
Christ. `For He is our peace,' and we are `in Him complete.' In Him--
not in your penances, nor in yourself. If so were that my Lord Basset
had done you grievous wrong, it might be you forgave him fully, not for
anything in him, but only because he is one with your own daughter, and
you could not strike him without smiting her; his dishonour is her
dishonour, his peace is her peace, to punish him were to punish her. So
is it with the soul that is joined to Christ. If He be exalted, it must
be exalted; if it be rejected, He is rejected also. And God cannot
reject His own Son."

The Archbishop was not at all sure that the Countess was listening to
him. She kept her face turned away. He rose and wished her good
evening. The medicine must not be administered in an overdose, or it
might work more harm than good.

He came again on the following evening, and gave her a little more. For
three days after he pursued the same course, and, further than courtesy
demanded, he was not answered a word. On the fourth night he found the
face turned. A pitiful face, whose aspect went to his heart--wan,
white, haggard, unutterably pathetic. That night he read the f