“Perhaps,” said the Prior again, softly, “there was no other way for your Lordship to the gate of the Holy City. He leads us by diverse ways; some through the flowery mead, and some over the desert sands where no water is. But of all it is written, ‘He led them forth by the right way, that they might reach the haven of their desire.’ Would your Lordship have preferred the mead and have missed the haven?”
“No,” answered the Earl, firmly.
“Remember that you hold God’s promise that when you awake up after His likeness you shall be satisfied with it. And he is not satisfied with his purchase who accounts it to have cost more than it was worth.”
“Will your figure hold if pressed further?” said the Earl, with a wintry smile. “The purchase may be worth a thousand marks, but if I have but five hundred in the world I shall starve to death before the gem is mine.”
“No, my Lord, it will not hold. For you cannot pay the price of that gem. The cost of it was His who will keep it safe for you, so that you cannot fling it away in mistake or folly. Figures must fail somewhere; and we want another in this case. My Lord, you are the gem, and the heavenly Graver is fashioning on you the King’s likeness. Will you stay His hand before it is perfect?”
“I would it were near perfection!” sighed the Earl.
“Perhaps it is,” said the Prior, gently. “Remember, it is your Father who is graving it.”
The Earl’s lip quivered. “If one could but know when it would be done! If one might know that in seven years—ten years—it would be complete, and one’s heart and brain might find rest! But to think of its going on for twenty, thirty, forty—”
“They will look short enough, my Lord, when they are over.”
“True. But not while they are passing.”