“Have you a canyon, too?” she asked, gravely.
Lady Charlotte paused a moment, then nodded. It did appear strange to me that she should break down her proud reserve and open her heart to this child.
“And there are no flowers, Gwen, not one,” she said rather bitterly, “nor sun nor seeds nor soil, I fear.”
“Oh, if The Pilot were here, he would tell you.”
At this point, feeling that they would rather be alone, I excused myself on the pretext of looking after the horses.
What they talked of during the next hour I never knew, but when I returned to the room Lady Charlotte was reading slowly and with perplexed face to Gwen out of her mother's Bible the words “for the suffering of death, crowned with glory and honor.”
“You see even for Him, suffering,” Gwen said eagerly, “but I can't explain. The Pilot will make it clear.” Then the talk ended.
We had lunch with Gwen—bannocks and fresh sweet milk and blueberries—and after an hour of gay fun we came away.
Lady Charlotte kissed her tenderly as she bade Gwen good-by.
“You must let me come again and sit at your window,” she said, smiling down upon the wan face.