s I believe, there is more behind, more which we are not
told; that we must find out for ourselves with 'groanings which cannot
be uttered; by hope we are saved.' Did not St. Paul hint at it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that as our spirit sows, so shall it reap; as it imagines and
desires, so shall it inherit. It is here that the soul must grow, not
there. As the child comes into the world with a nature already formed,
and its blood filled with gifts of strength or weakness, so shall the
spirit come into its world wearing the garment that it has woven and
which it cannot change."

"The garment which it has woven," said Morris. "That means free will,
and how does free will chime in with your fatalism, Miss Fregelius?"

"Perfectly; the material given us to weave with, that is Fate; the time
which is allotted for the task, that is Fate again; but the pattern is
our own. Here are brushes, here is pigment, so much of it, of such and
such colours, and here is light to work by. 'Now paint your picture,'
says the Master; 'paint swiftly, with such skill as you can, not knowing
how long is allotted for the task.' And so we weave, and so we paint,
every one of us--every one of us."

"What is your picture, Miss Fregelius? Tell me, if you will."

She laughed, and drew herself up. "Mine, oh! it is large. It is to reign
like that star. It is to labour forward from age to age at the great
tasks that God shall set me; to return and bow before His throne crying,
'It is done. Behold, is the work good?' For the hour that they endure
it is still to be with those whom I have loved on earth, although they
cannot see me; to soothe their sorrows, to support their weakness, to
lull their fears. It is that the empty longing and daily prayer may be
filled, and filled, and filled again, like a cup from a stream which
never ceases."

"And what is that daily prayer?" asked Morris, looking at her.

"O! God, touch me with Thy light, and give me understanding--yes,
understanding--the word encloses all I seek," she replied, then,
checking herself, added in a changed voice, "Come, let us go home; it is
foolish to talk long of such things."

Shortly after this curious conversation, which was never renewed between
them, or, at least, but once, a new element entered into the drama, the
necessary semi-comic element without which everything would be so dull.
This fresh factor was the infatuation, which possibly the reader may
have foreseen, of