as complete now. All
the strange chequerings of the pattern were made plain, the fair
proportions no longer hidden: the perfected work shone out in its
finished beauty, and she grudged neither the labour nor the tears now.

Guy of Ashridge could see this; but to Annora it was incomprehensible.
She had been told by her mother that the Grey Lady had passed a life of
much suffering before she came to Sempringham; for silent as she was
concerning the details of that life, Isabel had never tried to conceal
the fact that it had been one of suffering. And the child's childish
idea was the old notion of poetical justice--of the good being rewarded,
and the evil punished, openly and unmistakably, in this world; a state
of affairs frequently to be found in novels, but only now and then in
reality. Had some splendid litter been borne to the door of the little
cell, and had noblemen decked in velvet robes, shining with jewels, and
riding on richly caparisoned horses, told her that they were come to
make the Grey Lady a queen, Annora would have been fully satisfied. But
here the heavenly chariot was invisible, and had come noiselessly; the
white and glistering raiment of the angels had shone with no perceptible
lustre, had swept by with no audible sound. The child wept bitterly.

"What troubleth thee, Annora?" said Guy of Ashridge, laying his hand
gently upon her head.

"Oh!" sobbed Annora, "God hath given her nothing after all!"

"Hath He given her nothing?" responded Guy. "I would thou couldst ask
her, and see what she would answer."

"But I thought," said the child, vainly endeavouring to stop crying, "I
thought He had such beautiful things to give to people He loved. She
used to say so. But He gave her nothing beautiful--only this cell and
those grey garments. I thought He would have clad her in golden
baudekyn [see Note 1], and set gems in her hair, and given her a horse
to ride,--like the Lady de Chartreux had when she came to the Convent
last year to visit her daughter, Sister Egidia. Her fingers were all
sparkling with rings, and her gown had beautiful strings of pearl down
the front, with perry-work [see Note 2] at the wrists. Why did not God
give the Grey Lady such fair things as these? Was she not quite as good
as the Lady de Chartreux?"

"Because He loved her too well," said Guy softly. "He had better and
fairer things than such poor gauds for her. The Lady de Chartreux must
die one day, and leave all