"Manuel is with Cardinal Bonpre in London," replied Cyrillon. "I heard from Aubrey yesterday that they are going about together among the poor, doing good everywhere. Would you like to join them? Your friend Sylvie would be glad to have you stay with her, I am sure."
She gave a hopeless gesture.
"I am not strong enough to go—" she began.
"You will be strong enough when you determine to be," said Cyrillon.
"Your frightened soul is making a coward of your body!"
She started and drew her hand away from his gentle clasp.
"You are harsh!" she said, looking at him straightly. "I am not frightened—I never was a coward!"
Something of the old steady light came back to her eyes, and Cyrillon inwardly rejoiced to see it.
"My words seem rough," he said, "but truly they are not so. I repeat, your soul is frightened—yes! frightened at the close approach of God! God is never so near to us as in a great sorrow; and when we feel His presence almost within sight and touch, we are afraid. But we must not give way to fear; we must not grovel in the dust and hide ourselves as if we were ashamed! We must rise up and grow accustomed to His glory, and let Him lead us where He will!"
He paused, for Angela was weeping. The sound of her low sobbing smote him to the heart.
"Angela—Angela!" he whispered, more to himself than to her. "Have I hurt you so much?"