all thy
life?"

"Father," said the low, sad voice, "I am afraid you are right. I do not
know Him."

"Wilt thou not ask Him, then, to reveal Himself to thee?"

"Will He do it, Father?"

"`Will He'! Has He not been waiting to do it, ever since thou wert
brought to Him in baptism?"

"But He can never fill up this void in my heart!"

"He could, my daughter. But I am not sure that He will, in this world.
I rather think that He sees how weak thou art, and means to gather thee
early into the warm shelter of His safe and happy fold."

"Father, I feel as if I could not be happy, even in Heaven, if _he_ were
not there. I can long for the grave, because it will be rest and
silence. But for active happiness, such as I suppose they have in
Heaven,--Father, I do not want that; I could not bear it. I would
rather stay on earth--where Richard is."

"Poor child!" said Bruno half involuntarily. "My daughter, it is very
natural. It must be so. `Where is thy treasure, there is also thine
heart.'"

"And," the low voice went on, "if I could know that he had given over
loving me, I fancy it would be easier to go."

Bruno thought it best rather to raise her thoughts out of that channel
than to encourage them to flow in it.

"My child, Christ has not given over loving thee."

"That does not seem real, like the other. And, O Father! He is not
Richard!"

"Dear child, it is far more real: but thine heart is too sore to suffer
thine eyes to see it. Dost thou not know that our Lord is saying to
thee in this very sorrow, `Come unto Me, and I will give thee rest'?"

"It would be rest, if He would give me Richard," she said. "There is
but that one thing for me in all the world."

Bruno perceived that this patient required not the plaster, as he had
supposed, but the probe. Her heart was not merely sore; it was
rebellious. She was hardening herself against God.

"No, my daughter; thou art not ready for rest. There can be no peace
between the King and an unpardoned rebel. Thou art that, Margaret de
Burgh. Lay down thine arms, and put thyself in the King's mercy."

"Father!" said the girl, in a voice which was a mixture of surprise and
alarm.

"Child, He giveth not account of any of His matters. Unconditional
submission is what He requires of His prisoners. Thou wouldst fain
dictate terms to thy Sovereign: it cannot be. Thou must come into His
terms, if there is to be any peace between Him and thee. Yet even