liness had aged him more than
seven years ought to have done. He was not fifty yet, but he was
beginning to look like an old man. The burden and heat of the day were
telling on him sadly.

"Right, my Lord," replied the Prior; "yet let me beg of your Lordship
not to over-weary yourself. Your life is a precious thing to all
dependent on you, and not less to us, your poor bedesmen here."

"Ah, Father! is my life precious to any one?" was the response, with a
sad smile.

"Indeed it is," answered the Prior earnestly. "As your Lordship has
just said, he who shall come after you may be harsh and unkind, and your
poor serfs may sorely feel the change. No man has a right to throw away
life, my Lord, and you have much left to live for."

Perhaps the Earl had grown a little morbid. Was it any wonder if he
had? He shook his head.

"We have but one life," continued the Prior, "and it is our duty to make
the best of it--that is, to do God's will with it. And when it is God's
will to say unto us, `Come up higher,' we may be sorry that we have
served Him no better, but not, I think, that we have given no more time
to our own ease, nor even to our own sorrows."

"And yet," said the Earl, resting his head upon one hand, "one gets
very, very tired sometimes of living."

"Cannot we trust our Father to call us to rest when we really need it?"
asked the Prior. "Nor is it well that in looking onward to the future
glory we should miss the present rest to be had by coming to Him, and
casting all our cares and burdens at His feet."

"Does He always take them?"

"Always--if we give them. But there is such a thing as asking Him to
take them, and holding them out to Him, and yet keeping fast hold of the
other end ourselves. He will hardly take what we do not give."

The Earl looked earnestly into his friend's eyes.

"Father, I will confess that these seven years--nay! what am I saying?
these eight-and-twenty--I have not been willing that God should do His
will. I wanted my will done. For five-and-forty years, ever since I
could lisp the words, I have been saying to Him with my lips, _Fiat
voluntas tua_. But only within the last few days have I really said to
Him in my heart, Lord, have Thy way. It seemed to me--will you think it
very dreadful if I confess it?--that I wanted but one thing, and that it
was very hard of God not to let me have it. I did not say such a thing
in words; I could talk fluently of being resigned