"I am afraid I am a greater sinner than you, Mrs. Cicely," said Patient Irvine's quiet voice in answer. "You have nothing to be proud of, and you are not proud. I have nothing to be proud of, and I am."
"Well, surely, a white devil is the worst devil," responded Cicely.
"Aye, he is so," answered Patient. "If He was 'meek and lowly in heart'[[1]] which 'did no sin, neither was guile found in His mouth,'[[2]] what should we be who are for ever sinning? I tell you, Mrs. Cicely, some of the worst bouts of pride that ever I had, have been just the minute after I had been humbling myself before the Lord. Depend upon it, there is no prouder man in all the world than the man who is proud of his humility."
There was no audible answer from Cicely. Celia came softly forward.
"Eh, my dear!" cried old Cicely, looking up at her. "I am so fain to see you back as never was! Sit ye down a bit, Mrs. Celia, dear heart, and tell me how it has gone with you this long time."
"Very well, dear Cicely, as concerns the Lord's dealings with me, and very ill as concerns my dealings with Him."
"That's a right good saying, my dear. Ah! the good between Him and us is certain sure to be all on His side. We are cruel bad, all on us. And did you like well, sweetheart?"
"That she did not," said Patient, when Celia hesitated. "She has not had a bit of her own way since she left you."
Celia laughed, and then grew serious. "My own way is bad for me, Patient."
"I never knew one for whom it was not, Madam, except the few who were so gracious that the Lord's way was their way."