'Why will you be so hard on yourself?' she murmured, taking the lovely childish face in her two hands and kissing it.
Nelly gently released herself, and pointed again, mutely, to a passage further on—the famous passage in which the saint, already in the ecstasy of martyrdom, appeals again to the Christian church in Rome, whether he is bound, not to save him from the wild beasts of the arena. 'I entreat you, shew not unto me an unseasonable love! Suffer me to be the food of wild beasts, through whom it is allowed me to attain unto God. I am the corn of God; let me be ground by the teeth of the wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ…. Pardon me in this. I know what is expedient for me. I am but now beginning to be a disciple.'
'Nelly dear—what do you mean?'
A faint little smile crossed Nelly's face.
'Oh, nothing—only;—' she sighed again—'It's so splendid! Such a will!—such a faith! No one thinks like that now. No one is willing to be "the corn of God."'
'Oh, yes they are!' said Hester, passionately. 'There are thousands of men—and women—in this war, who are willing to do everything—suffer everything—for others—their country—their people at home.'
'Well, then they're happy!—and why hold anyone back?' said Nelly, with soft reproach. And letting her head drop on Hester's shoulder, she said, slowly—
'Let me go, dear Hester—let me go! It's drudgery I want—drudgery' she repeated with intensity. 'Something that I don't want to do—something that's against the grain—all day long.' Then she laughed and roused herself. 'Not much likeness between me and St. Ignatius, is there?'
Hester considered her gravely.
'When people like you are wrestling all day and every day with something too hard for them, their strength gives way. They think they can do it, but they can't.'