nt you to do, or what you
meant God to do?"

The sand grew to a larger heap in the hour-glass before another word was
spoken.

"Father," said the Prince at last, "have I been intent on following my
own will, when I thought I was pursuing the Lord's will for me? Father
Bevis thinks so: he gave me some very hard words before I came here. He
accuses me of idolatry; of loving the creature more than the Creator--
nay, of setting up my will and aim, and caring nothing for those of the
Lord. In his eyes, I ought to have perceived years ago that God called
me to a life apart with Him, and to have detached my heart from all but
Himself and His Church. Father, it is hard enough to realise the wreck
of all a man hoped and longed for: yet it is harder to know that the
very hope was sin, that the longing was contrary to the Divine purpose
for me. Have I so misunderstood my life? Have I so misunderstood my
Master?"

The expression of the Prior's eyes was very pitying and full of
tenderness. Hard words were not what he thought needed as the medicine
for that patient. They were only to be expected from Father Bevis, who
had never suffered the least pang of that description of pain.

"My Lord," answered the Prior, gently, "it is written of the wicked man,
`Thou hast removed Thy judgments from his eyes.' They are not to be
seen nor fathomed by him. And to a great extent it is equally true of
the righteous man. Man must not look to be able to comprehend the ways
of God--they are above him. It is enough for him if he can walk
submissively in them."

"I wonder," said the Earl, still pursuing his own train of thought, "if
I ought to have been a monk. I never imagined it, for I never felt any
vocation. It seemed to me that Providence called me to a life entirely
different. Have I made an utter blunder all my life? I cannot think
it."

"There is no need to think it, my Lord. We cannot all be monks, even if
we would. And why should we? It might, perhaps, be better for you to
think one other thing."

"What?" asked the Earl, with more appearance of interest than he had
hitherto shown.

"That what you suppose to be the spoiling of your life is just what God
intended for you."

The Earl's face grew dark. "What! that all my life long He was leading
me up to _this_?"

"It looks like it," said the Prior, quietly.

"Oh! but why?"

"Now, my Lord, you go beyond me. Neither you nor I can guess that. But
He knows."