e."

The Grey Lady made no reply. Philippa almost expected her to ask if her
conscience were quiet, or how much of her salvation she had made. Guy
of Ashridge, she thought, would have preached a sermon on that text.
But no answer came from the veiled figure, only her head drooped upon
her hand as if she were tired.

"Now I am wearying you," said Philippa reproachfully. "I ought to have
gone when I first thought thereof."

"No," said the Grey Lady.

Her voice, if possible, was even softer than before, but Philippa could
not avoid detecting in it a cadence of pain so intense that she began to
wonder if she were ill, or what portion of her speech could possibly
have caused it.

"Are you ill, Mother?" she asked compassionately.

The eremitess lifted her head; and her voice was again calm.

"I thank you,--no. Let us not speak of ourselves, but of God."

"Mother, I wish to ask you something," said Philippa rather doubtfully,
for she did not wish to pain her again, yet she deemed her coming
question necessary.

"Ask what you will, Lady de Sergeaux."

There was no sad cadence now in the gentle voice.

"I desire to know--for so only can you really help me--if you know
yourself what it is to be unloved."

Once more Philippa saw the grey veil tremble.

"I know it--well." But the words were uttered scarcely above a whisper.

"I meant to ask you that at first, and we name upon another subject.
But I am satisfied if you know it. And now tell me, how may any be
content under such a trial? How may a weary, thirsting heart, come to
drink of that water which he that drinketh shall thirst no more?
Mother, all my life I have been drinking of many wells, but I never yet
came to this Well. `Ancor soyf j'ay:' tell me how I must labour, where
I must go, to find that Well whereof the drinker

"`Jamays soyf n'aura
A l'eternite'?"

"Who taught you those lines?" asked the eremitess quickly.

"I found them in the device of a jewel," replied Philippa.

"Strange!" said the recluse; but she did not explain why she thought it
so. "Lady, the Living Water is the gift of God; or rather, it is God.
And the heart of man was never meant to be satisfied with anything
beneath God."

"But the heart of woman, at least," said Philippa, "for I am not a man--
is often satisfied with things beneath God."

"It often rests in them," said the Grey Lady; "but I doubt whether it is
satisfied. That is a strong word. Are you?"

"I