more trust in her,
who was no better than a child, than in the Father of all. But then she
said, "Look in your heart and you will see you are not so much afraid as
you think. This is how you have been accustomed to frighten yourself.
But look now into your heart. You thought you were very ill at first,
but not now; and you think you are afraid, but look in your heart--"

There was a silence, and then the woman raised her head with a wonderful
look, in which there was amazement and doubt, as if she had heard some
joyful thing but dared not yet believe that it was true. Once more she
hid her face in her hands, and once more raised it again. Her eyes
softened; a long sigh or gasp, like one taking breath after drowning,
shook her breast. Then she said, "I think that is true. But if I am not
afraid it is because I am--bad. It is because I am hardened. Oh, should
not I fear Him who can send me away into--the lake that burns--into the
pit--" And here she gave a great cry, but held the little Pilgrim all
the while with her eyes, which seem to plead and ask for better news.

Then there came into the Pilgrim's heart what to say, and she took the
woman's hand again and held it between her own. "That is the change,"
she said, "that comes when we come here. We are not afraid any more of
our Father. We are not all happy. Perhaps you will not be happy at
first. But if he says to you go--even to that place you speak of--you
will know that it is well, and you will not be afraid. You are not
afraid now--oh, I can see it in your eyes. You are not happy, but you
are not afraid. You know it is the Father. Do not say God, that is far
off--Father!" said the little Pilgrim, holding up the woman's hand
clasped in her own. And there came into her soul an ecstasy, and tears
that were tears of blessedness fell from her eyes, and all about her
there seemed to shine a light. When she came to herself, the woman who
was her charge had come quite close to her, and had added her other hand
to that the Pilgrim held, and was weeping, and saying, "I am not
afraid," with now and then a gasp and sob, like a child who, after a
passion of tears, has been consoled, yet goes on sobbing and cannot
quite forget, and is afraid to own that all is well again. Then the
Pilgrim kissed her, and bade her rest a little, for even she herself
felt shaken, and longed for a little quiet and to feel the true sense of
the peace that was in her heart. She sat down beside her upo