."

"Ay--when we are there." It was Margaret who spoke.

"And before, let us look forward, my child."

"Easy enough," said Margaret, "when the sun gleameth out fair, and ye
see the domes of the city stand up bravely afore. But in the dark
night, when neither sun nor star appeareth, and ye are out on a wild
moor, and thick mist closeth you in, so that ye go it may be around
thinking it be forward, till ye know not whether your face is toward the
city or no--"

"Let thy face be toward the Lord of the city," said Mother Alianora.
"He shall lead thee forth by the right way, that thou mayest come to His
city and to His holy hill. The right way, daughter, is sometimes the
way over the moor, and through the mist. `Who of you walketh in
darkness, and there is no light to him? Let him trust in the name of
the Lord, and lean upon his God.' Why, my child, it is only when man
cannot see that it is possible for him to trust. Faith is not called in
exercise so long as thou walkest by sight."

"But when thou art utterly alone," said my sister in a low voice, "with
not one footstep on the road beside thee--"

"That art thou never, child, so thou be Christ's. _His_ footsteps are
alway there."

"In suffering, ay: but in perplexity?"

"Daughter, when thou losest His steps, thou yet hast Himself. `If any
lack wisdom, let him ask of God.' And God is never from home."

"Neither is Satan."

"`Greater is He that is in you than he in the world.'"

Mother Alianora seemed weary when she had said this, and lay still a
while: and Margaret did not answer. I think the Mother dropped asleep;
I sat beside her and watched. But Margaret stood still at the foot of
the bed, not sitting down, and in the dim light of our one little lamp I
could scarcely see her face as she stood, only that it was turned toward
the casement, where a faint half-moon rode in the heavens, and the calm
ancient stars looked down on us. Oh, how small a world is ours in the
great heavens! yet for one soul of one little babe in this small world,
the Son of God hath died.

My heart went out to Margaret as she stood there: yet my lips were
sealed. I felt, strangely, as if I could not speak. Something held me
back, and I knew not if it were God, or Satan, or only mine own want of
sense and bravery. The long hours wore on. The church bell tolled for
lauds, and we heard the soft tramp of the Sisters' feet as they passed
and returned: then the doors closed,