w backward from the land, and poise themselves in a
crest of troubled water."

"But is a great position in the world," I said, "whether inherited or
attained, a dangerous thing?"

"Nothing is _dangerous_, child," he said. "You must put all that out of
your mind. But men in high posts and stations are often not progressing
evenly, only in great jogs and starts. They learn very often, with a
sudden surprise, which is not always painful, and sometimes is very
beautiful and sweet, that all the ceremony and pomp, the great house,
the bows and the smiles, mean nothing at all--absolutely nothing, except
the chance, the opportunity of not being taken in by them. That is the
use of all pleasures and all satisfactions--the frame of mind which made
the old king say, 'Is not this great Babylon, which I have
builded?'--they are nothing but the work of another class in the great
school of life. A great many people are put to school with
self-satisfaction, that they may know the fine joy of humiliation, the
delight of learning that it is not effectiveness and applause that
matters, but love and peacefulness. And the great thing is that we
should feel that we are growing, not in hardness or indifference, nor
necessarily even in courage or patience, but in our power to feel and
our power to suffer. As love multiplies, suffering must multiply too.
The very Heart of God is full of infinite, joyful, hopeful suffering;
the whole thing is so vast, so slow, so quiet, that the end of suffering
is yet far off. But when we suffer, we climb fast; the spirit grows old
and wise in faith and love; and suffering is the one thing we cannot
dispense with, because it is the condition of our fullest and purest
life."

V

I said suddenly, "The joy of this place is not the security of it, but
the fact that one has not to think about security. I am not afraid of
anything that may happen, and there is no weariness of thought. One does
not think till one is tired, but till one has finished thinking."

"Yes," said Amroth, "that was the misery of the poor body!"

"And yet I used to think," I said, "in the old days that I was grateful
to the body for many pleasant things it gave me--breathing the air,
feeling the sun, eating and drinking, games and exercise, and the
strange thing one called love."

"Yes," said Amroth, "all those things have to be made pleasant, or to
appear so; otherwise no one could submit to the discipline at all; but
of cours