in so many houses. Before Him we
are living men and real women--each with his separate heart, and every
separate pang that rends it. The Church of God is one: but it is His
Body, and made of many members. We know, when we feel pain, in what
member it is. Is He less wise, less tender, less sensitive than we?
There are many, Margaret, who would feel nought but horror at thy story;
I advise thee not to tell it to any other, lest thou suffer in so doing.
But I condemn thee not: for I think Christ would not, if He stood now
among us. Dear child, keep at His feet: it is the only safe place, and
it is the happy place. Heaven will be wide enough to hold us all, and
before long we shall be there."

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Note 1. To the mind of a Roman Catholic, a "religious person" is only a
priest, monk, or nun.

Note 2. "From Jerusalem, or from England, the way to Heaven is equally
near."--Jerome.

PART THREE, CHAPTER 3.

ANNORA FINDS IT OUT.

"Peace, peace, poor heart!
Go back and thrill not thus!
Are not the vows of the Lord God upon me?"

It would really be a convenience if one could buy common sense. People
seem to have so little. And I am sure I have not more than other
people.

That story of Margaret's puzzles me sorely. I sit and think, and think,
and I never seem to come any nearer the end of my thinking. And some
never seem to have any trouble with their thoughts. I suppose they
either have more of them, and more sense altogether, so that they can
see things where I cannot; or else--Well, I do not know what else.

But Margaret's thoughts are something so entirely new. It is as if I
were looking out of the window at one end of the corridor, which looks
towards Grantham, and she were looking from the window at the other end,
which faces towards Spalding. Of course we should not see the same
things: how could we? And if the glass in one window were blue, and the
other red, it would make the difference still greater. I think that
must be rather the distinction; for it does not seem to lie in the
things themselves, but in the eyes with which Margaret looks on them.

Dear Mother Alianora yet lives, but she is sinking peacefully. Neither
Margaret nor I have been called to watch by her again. I begged of
Mother Gaillarde that I might see her once more, and say farewell; and
all I got for it was "Mind your broidery, Sister!"

I shou