ice from within.

"Elaine and Annora," replied the little girl.

"Come in, my children."

Motioning Philippa to wait for her an instant, Elaine lifted the latch
and entered, half closing the door behind her. Some low-toned
conversation followed within the cell; and then Elaine opened the door,
and asked Philippa to enter. The Grey Lady stood before her.

What she saw was a tall, slender, delicate figure, attired in dark grey.
The figure alone was visible, for over the face the veil was drawn
down. But Philippa's own knowledge of aristocratic life told her in an
instant that the reverence with which she was received was that of a
high-born lady. It was plain that the eremitess was no peasant.

Elaine seemed to know that she was no longer wanted, and she drew Annora
away. The children went dancing through the wood, and Philippa,
desiring Lena and Oliver to await her pleasure, shut the door of the
cell.

"Mother," she began--for recluses were addressed as professed nuns, and
were indeed regarded as the holiest of all celibates--"I desire your
help."

"For body or soul?" was the reply.

"For the soul--for the life," said Philippa.

"Ay," replied the eremitess; "the soul is the life."

"Know you Guy of Ashridge?" asked Philippa.

The Grey Lady bowed her head.

"I have confessed to him, and he hath dealt hardly with me. He saith I
will not be saved; and I wish to be saved. He tells me to come to
Christ, and I know not how to come, and he saith he cannot make me
understand how. He saith God loveth me, because He hath given me a very
desolate and unhappy life; and I think He hateth me by that token. In
short, Father Guy tells me to do what I cannot do, and then he saith I
will not do it. Will you teach me, and comfort me, if you can? The
monk only makes me more unhappy. And I do not want to be unhappy. I
want comfort--I want rest--I want peace. Tell me how to obtain it!"

"No one wishes to be unhappy," said the eremitess, in her gentle
accents; "but sometimes we mistake the medicine we need. Before I can
give you medicine, I must know your disease."

"My disease is weariness and sorrow," answered Philippa. "I love none,
and none loveth me. None hath ever loved me. I hate all men."

"And God?"

"I do not know God," she said, her voice sinking. "He is afar off, and
will come no nearer."

"Or you are afar off, and will go no nearer? Which is it?"

"I think it is the first," she answered;