“My Lord,” answered the Prior, gently, “it is written of the wicked man, ‘Thou hast removed Thy judgments from his eyes.’ They are not to be seen nor fathomed by him. And to a great extent it is equally true of the righteous man. Man must not look to be able to comprehend the ways of God—they are above him. It is enough for him if he can walk submissively in them.”
“I wonder,” said the Earl, still pursuing his own train of thought, “if I ought to have been a monk. I never imagined it, for I never felt any vocation. It seemed to me that Providence called me to a life entirely different. Have I made an utter blunder all my life? I cannot think it.”
“There is no need to think it, my Lord. We cannot all be monks, even if we would. And why should we? It might, perhaps, be better for you to think one other thing.”
“What?” asked the Earl, with more appearance of interest than he had hitherto shown.
“That what you suppose to be the spoiling of your life is just what God intended for you.”
The Earl’s face grew dark. “What! that all my life long He was leading me up to this?”
“It looks like it,” said the Prior, quietly.
“Oh! but why?”
“Now, my Lord, you go beyond me. Neither you nor I can guess that. But He knows.”
“Yes, I suppose He knows.” But the consideration did not seem to comfort him as it had done before when suggested by Father Bevis.