"Now, Ephraim!" said I.

"Sounded like it," he replied. "Well, Cary, are you glad to go home?"

"Well, yes--I think--I am," answered I.

"Then certainly I think you are not."

"Well. I am glad for some reasons."

"And not for others. Yes, I understand that. And I guess one of the
reasons--you are sorry to leave Miss Keith."

I wondered if he guessed that because he was sorry.

"Yes, I am very sorry to leave her in this trouble. Do you think it
likely that Colonel Keith can escape?"

Ephraim shook his head.

"Is it possible?"

"`Possible' is a Divine word, not fit for the lips of men. What God
wills is possible. And it is not often that He lets us see long
beforehand what He means to do."

"Then you think all lies with God?" I said--I am afraid, in a rather
hopeless tone.

"Does not everything, at all times, lie with God? That means hope,
Cary, not despair. `Whatsoever the Lord pleased, that did He.'"

"Oh dear! that sounds as if--Ephraim, I don't mean to say anything
wicked--as if He did not care."

"He cares for our sanctification: that is, in the long run, for our
happiness. Would you rather that He cared just to rid you of the pain
of the moment, and not for your eternal happiness?"

"Oh no! But could I not have both?"

"No, Cary, I don't suppose you could."

"But if God can do everything, why can He not do that? Do you never
want to know the answers to such questions? Or do they not trouble you?
They are always coming up with me."

"Far too often. Satan takes care of that."

"You think it is wicked to want the answers?"

"It is rebellion, Cary. The King is the best judge of what concerns His
subjects' welfare."

I felt in a corner, so I ate my pie and was silent.

We slept at Reading, and the next day we dined at Wallingford, and slept
at the Angel at Oxford. Next morning, which was Saturday, we were up
before the sun, to see as much as we could of the city before the
machine should set forth. I cannot say that I got a very clear idea of
the place, for when I try to remember it, my head seems a confused
jumble of towers and gateways, colleges and churches, stained windows
and comical gargoyles--at least that is what Ephraim called the funny
faces which stuck out from some of the walls. I don't know where he got
the word.

This day's stage was the longest. We dined at Lechlade; and it had long
been dark when we rattled into the courtyard of the Bell Inn at
Gloucester