“Lady,” said Ademar, quietly, “even God can only comfort them that lack comforting.”
She looked at him in silence. Ademar pointed out of the window to two little children who were dancing merrily on the shore, and laughing till they could scarcely dance.
“How would you comfort them, Madam?”
“They need it not,” she murmured, absently.
“In verity,” said Ademar; “neither wasteth our Lord His comfort on them that dance, nor His pitifulness on them that be at ease. And I have seen ere now, Madam, that while He holdeth wide the door of His fold for all His sheep to enter in, yet there be some that will not come in till they be driven. Yea, and some lack a sharp rap of the shepherd’s rod ere they will quit the wayside herbage.”
“And you think she feedeth thereby?”
“I think that an’ she be of the sheep, she must be fetched within; and maybe not one nor two strokes shall be spent in so doing.”
“Amen, even if so! But this rap hath fallen on the tenderest side.”
“The Shepherd knoweth the tender side, Madam; and lo’ you, that so doing, He witteth not only where to smite with the rod, but where to lay the plaister.”
“And you, Sir Ademar—lack you no plaister?”