“A great many,” said Bruno, sadly.
“Father,” said Beatrice, after a short silence, “as a man grows older and wiser, do you think that he comes to understand any better the reason of the dark doings of Providence? Can you see any light upon them, which you did not of old?”
“No, my child, I think not,” was Bruno’s answer. “If any thing, I should say they grow darker. But we learn to trust, Beatrice. It is not less dark when the child puts his hand confidingly in that of his father; but his mind is the lighter for it. We come to know our Father better; we learn to trust and wait. ‘What I do, thou knowest not now: but thou shalt know hereafter.’ And He has told us that in that land where we are to know even as we are known, we shall be satisfied. Satisfied with His dealings, then: let us be satisfied with Him, here and now.”
“It is dark!” said Beatrice, with a sob.
“‘The morning cometh,’” replied Bruno. “And ‘in the morning is gladness.’”
Beatrice stood still and silent for some minutes, only a slight sob now and then showing the storm through which she had passed. At last, in a low, troubled voice, she said—
“There is no one to call me Belasez now!”
Bruno clasped her closer.
“My darling!” he said, “so long as the Lord spares us to each other, thou wilt always be belle assez for me!”