‘It is through suffering that we must follow our Lord,’ she went on, after a long pause. ‘He refused the kingdoms of this world and the glory of them, and chose to wander homeless, and to die in shame. O child, thou hast lost much, and even yet more may be asked of thee—home and dear ones are gone; food, raiment, life itself may be wrenched away—but, Rénée, do not give up thy faith!—thy faith in the rest that remaineth for the Vaudois—thy faith in thy Saviour, who loveth even thee and me!’
The girl was weeping. Not the burning tears of a passionate despair, but the blessed drops that ease the heart from whence they flow. Into her soul there came some faint fair imagining of the meaning of it all—this trial and torture, this desolation and weariness of waiting. Just such a glimpse as had come to Gaspard when he knelt alone on Mount Vadolin came now to her. Life, and the wreck of such riches as life had held for her, was small indeed compared with this higher weal and wealth—the unsearchable riches of Christ.
And, presently, when the purple shade crept over the gleaming snows of the upper pass, and even the mountain’s mighty brow was shadowed—two voices sang the ‘Psalm of Strong Confidence,’ albeit the notes fell quaveringly, and the words were mingled with the echoes of sobs.
‘The earth trembled and was still, when God arose
To help the meek upon the earth.
Then the fierceness of man shall be turned to His praise,
And the fierceness of the violent shall be restrained.’
CHAPTER XI.
