“Ha, jolife!” cried Elaine, clapping her hands. “Now for his name! I hope I know him—but I am sure I don’t.”
“You all know His name,” said Heliet, gravely. “How many of us know Him? For indeed, I know of no such man that ever lived, except only Jesus Christ our Lord.”
There was no answer. A hush seemed to have fallen on the whole party, which was at last broken by Olympias.
“Well, but—thou knowest we cannot have Him.”
“Pardon me, I know no such thing,” answered Heliet, in the same soft, grave tone. “Does not the Psalmist say, ‘Portio mea, Domine’? (Note 1) And does not Solomon say, ‘Dilectus meus mihi?’ (Note 2.) Is it not the very glory of His infinitude, that all who are His can have all of Him?”
“Where did Heliet pick up these queer notions?” said Diana under her breath.
“She goes to such extremes!” Elaine whispered back.
“But all that means to go into the cloister,” replied Olympias in a discontented tone.
“Nay,” said Heliet, taking up her crutches, “I hope a few will go to Heaven who do not go into the cloister. But we may rest assured of this, that not one will go there who has not chosen Christ for his portion.”
“Well,” said Diana, calmly, a minute after Heliet had disappeared, “I suppose she means to be a nun! But she might let that alone till she is one.”