"Guy of Ashridge will have it
to be the second. I cannot get at God--that is all I know. And it is
not for want of praying. I have begged the intercession of my patron,
the holy Apostle Saint Philip, hundreds of times."

"Do you know why you cannot get at God?"

"No. If you can guess, tell me why it is."

"Because you have gone the wrong way. You have not found the door. You
are trying to break through over the wall. And `he that entereth not by
the door into the sheep-fold, but climbeth up some other way, the same
is a thief and a robber.'"

"Explain to me what you mean, Mother, an' it like you."

"You know how Adam sinned in Paradise?" asked the Grey Lady.

"When he and Eva disobeyed God, and ate of the fruit of the forbidden
tree? Yes, I have heard that."

"He built up a terrible wall between him and God. Every man, as born
into this world, is on the hither side of that wall. He knoweth not
God, he loveth not God, he careth not for God."

"But that is not the case with me," objected Philippa; "for I do wish
for Him. I want some one to love me; and I should not mind if it were
God. Even He were better than none."

The Grey Lady's veil trembled a little, as Philippa thought; but she sat
meditating for an instant.

"Before I answer your last remark," she said, "will you tell me a little
of your life? I might know better how to reply. You are a married
woman, of course, for your dress is not that of a nun, nor of a widow.
Have you children? Are your parents living?"

"I have no child," said Philippa: and the Grey Lady's penetration must
have been obtuse if she were unable to detect a tone of deep sadness
underlying the words. "And parents--living--did you ask me? By Mary,
Mother and Maiden, I have but one living, and I hate--I hate him!" The
passionate energy with which the last words were spoken told its own
tale.

"Then it is no marvel," answered the Grey Lady, in a very different tone
from Philippa's, "that you come to me with a tale of sorrow. Where
there is hatred there can be no peace; and without peace there can be no
hope."

"Hope!" exclaimed Philippa, bitterly. "What is there for me to hope?
Who ever cared for me? Who ever asked me if I were happy? Nobody loves
me--why should I love anybody?"

"`God commendeth His love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners,
Christ died for us.'"

The words fell like cooling water on the hot fire of Philippa's
bitterness; but she