"Not at all, holy Mother, if it please you," said I, "for I cannot get on with it."
She selected another, and gave it me.
"Oh, this is beautiful for broidery!" I said; "so fine and sharp."
"It is the answer to a question thou wert asking me yesterday," said Lady Judith, "and I gave thee no reply. Canst thou guess what the question was?"
I could not, and said so. I did not remember asking anything that had to do with needles, and I never thought of any hidden meaning.
"Thy question was, What is the world?—and, what harm does the world do to us? That needle that I first gave thee has its point blunted. And that is what the world does to a child of God. It blunts his point."
"I do not understand," said I.
"Little Helena," said Lady Judith, "before a point can be blunted, there must be one to blunt. Thou couldst not sew with a wooden post. So, before the world can injure thy spiritual life, there must be spiritual life to injure. There is no poison that will harm a dead man."
"But, holy Mother, are there two worlds?" said I. "For religious persons give up the world."
"My child, thine heart is a citadel which the foe can never enter, unless there be a traitor within the walls to open the postern gate. But there is such a traitor, Helena; and he is always on the watch. Be thou ever on the watch too. Yet another matter stands first:—Who reigns in thy citadel? Hast thou ever given thine heart to God, maiden?"