to His will, but down
at the core of my heart I was resigned to everything but one, and I was
not resigned to that at all. And I think I only became resigned when I
gave over trying and working at resignation, and sank down, like a tired
child, at my Father's feet. But now I am very tired, and I would fain
that my Father would take me up in His arms."

The Prior did not speak. He could not. He only looked very sorrowfully
into the worn face of the heart-wearied man, with a conviction which he
was unable to repress, that the time of the call to come up higher was
not far away. He would have been thankful to disprove his conclusion,
but to stifle it he dared not.

"I hope," said the Earl in the same low tone, "that there are quiet
corners in Heaven where weary men and women may lie down and rest a
while at our Lord's feet. I feel unfit to take a place all at once in
the angelic choir. Not unready to praise--I mean not that--only too
weary, just at first, to care for anything but rest."

There were tears burning under the Prior's eyelids; but he was silent
still. That was not his idea of Heaven; but then he was less weary of
earth. He felt almost vexed that the only passage of Scripture which
would come to him was one utterly unsuited to the occasion--"They rest
not day nor night." Usually fluent and fervent, he was tongue-tied just
then.

"Did Christ our Lord need the rest of His three days and nights in the
grave?" suggested the Earl, thoughtfully. "He must have been very weary
after the agony of His cross. I think He must have been very tired of
His life altogether. For was it not one passion from Bethlehem to
Calvary? And He could hardly have been one of those strong men who
never seem to feel tired. Twice we are told that He was weary--when He
sat on the well, and when He slept in the boat. Father, I ought to ask
your pardon for speaking when I should listen, and seeming to teach
where I ought to be taught."

"Nay, my Lord, say not so, I pray you." The Prior found his voice at
last. "I have learned to recognise my Master's voice, whether I hear it
from the rostrum of the orator or from the lowly hovel of the serf. And
it is not the first time that I have heard it in yours."

The Earl looked up with an expression of surprise, and then shook his
head again with a smile.

"Nay, good Father, flatter me not so far."

He might have added more, but the sound of an iron bar beaten on a
wooden boar