eighteen years there was
I sent hither. So Roland, I suppose, bides at Watton. I know not: the
Lord knows. We gave up for His sake the sweet converse wherein our
hearts delighted, that we might serve Him more fully and with less
distraction. I do not believe it was sinful. That it is sin in me to
love Roland shall I never own. But lest we should love each other
better than we love Him, we journey apart for this lower life. And I do
not think our Lord is angry with me when at times the longing pain and
the aching loneliness seem to overcome me, for a little while. I think
He is sorry for me. For since I learned--from Roland--that He is not
dead, but the Living One--that He is not darkness, but the Light--that
He is not cold and hard, but the incarnate Love--since then, I can never
feel afraid of Him. And I believe that He has not only made
satisfaction for my sins, but also that He can carry my burdens, and can
forgive my blunders. And if we cannot speak to one another, we can both
speak to Him, and entrust Him with our messages for each other. He will
give them if it be good: and before giving, He will change the words if
needful, so that we shall be sure to get the right message. Sometimes,
when I have felt very lonely, and He comes near me, and sends His peace
into my heart, I wonder whether Roland was asking Him to do it: and I
pray Him to comfort and rest Roland whenever he too feels weary. So you
see we send each other many more letters round by Heaven than we could
possibly do by earth. It was the last word Roland said to me--`The road
upward is alway open,' and, `_Et de Hierosolymis et de Britannia,
aequaliter patet aula caelestis_.'" [Note 2.]

Margaret was silent.

Then said Mother Alianora, "Child, thou hast said strange things: if
they be good or ill, God wot. I dare not have uttered some of them thus
boldly; yet neither dare I condemn thee. We all know so little! But
one thing have I learned, methinks--that God will not despise a gift
because men cast it at His feet as having no value for them. I say not,
He will not despise such givers: verily, they shall have their reward.
But if the gift be a living thing that can feel and smart under the
manner of its usage, then methinks He shall stoop to lift it with very
tender hands, so as to let it feel that it hath value in His eyes--its
own value, that nought save itself can have. My children, we are not
mere figures to Him--so many dwellers