“But what is the other side—reading the Bible?”
“That is part of it.”
“What is the other part of it?”
Lady Monksburn looked up at me again, with a smile which I do not know how to describe. I can only say that it filled me with a sudden yearning for my dead mother. She might have smiled on me like that.
“My darling!” she answered, “there are things which can be described, and there are things which can but be felt. No man can utter the secret of the Lord—only the Lord Himself. Ask Him to whisper it to you. You will care little for the smiles or the frowns of the world when He has done so.”
Is not that just what I want? “But will He tell it to any one?” I said.
“He tells it to those who long for it,” she replied. “His smile may be had by any who will have it. It costs a great deal, sometimes. But it is worth the cost.”
“What does it cost, Madam?”
“It costs what most men think very precious, and yet is really worth nothing at all. It costs the world’s flatteries, which are as a net for the feet; and the world’s pleasures, which are as the crackling of thorns under the pot; and the world’s honours, which are empty air. It often costs these. There are few men who can be trusted with both.”
There was a minute’s silence, and then she said,—